There are certain things in life that once you do them, you cannot undo them. For example: setting your ex-boyfriend's truck on fire, eating a double-chili cheese dog with onions from Sonic, and buying a romper. Today I can say that I have--irreversibly--done at least one of these three things.
A romper. I just bought a romper. Let me say it again so that I really and truly believe it, out loud, and so the whole wide world knows it. It makes it more real somehow. Those four words that are so small, yet so significant.
I. Bought. A. Romper.
A romper. A FUCKING ROMPER. Romper romper romper romper romper romper romper. Maybe if I just keep saying it and typing it, my purchase of a romper will become normalized somehow?
A romper, as in Romper Room, the children's TV show from the 80's and also article of clothing from the same time period. An article of clothing currently popular among people who wear non-adult diapers and super models. Because really those are the only two categories of people who can really and truly and even remotely pull off a romper.
Giselle Bundchen, and my daughter when she was a toddler. She can't even pull off a romper now, because she's in second grade, no longer in diapers, and does not walk the runway for Victoria's Secret, at least not yet. There is no caveat, loophole, or exception for 38 year-old mothers of two in romper wearing.
But when I looked at my iPhone and saw the weather in Athens, Georgia, where I will be spending the better part of next week at a wedding and associated events, I noted the temperatures there were forecast at 104 (one hundred and four) (one-zero-four) degrees.
It was then I knew only a romper would do to clothe a New Yorker-turned-Alaskan in a part of the country whose summertime climate is akin to the surface of Venus. It had to be done. I'm not happy about it, but it had to be done.
Please miss me with the "oh, a romper is so cute and sexy!" It's not. It's a FUCKING ROMPER and I totally cringed when the lady in the store was trying to sell me on it like, 'blah blah blah, especially with a ROMPER." I heard the word "romper," and she might as well have said "moist slacks."
Yes. I might as well have bought a pair of "moist slacks." That would have been better than buying a romper. But unlike moist slacks, ideally my thighs will not be Krazy-glued to each other in a romper all day.
So buy it I did, and there's no going back now. I am now--and forever will be--a non-super model and non-toddler who walked out into the street, into a store, and out of the store with a romper that she bought and paid for of her own volition and while not under duress or the influence of drugs or alcohol.
And I guess that's just something I'll have to learn to live with.