The clothes mullet

"One of the best things about moving to Texas is that I get to see you in shorts all the time!"

Awwww, what a sweet and loving statement from the husband, right? [cue the "my husband still thinks I'm hot!" giggles]

And then I started to truly over analyze this statement, and my giggles faded into "what kind of crappy compliment is that supposed to be?" annoyance. First, yes, I sometimes have make-something-out-of-nothing tendencies. Second, yes, he meant it as a true complement (giggle giggle). Third, yes, I may be a little over sensitive at times, but this hit on a subject that comes far too close to home:

Clothes mullets.

You know, when you do your hair all nice, actually put on some makeup for once, get into a cute shirt that's not circa 1999...and then you put on sweatpants. (Or if you want to score a dressy mullet, you slip into yoga pants. Viola! Classy clothes mullet. That easy.) However, it's not so much "business in the front, party in the back" as it is "party on the top, I give up on the bottom."

I knew there had to be others out there rocking this memorable style, but, really, who talks about these things to actually compare notes? Well, enter my cousin-in-law Lillian (who talks about a lot of funny things, actually).

So one day she posts a comment on Facebook about her clothes mullet, and I'm laughing out loud with delight - I have found another like me. Amazing! And then come all the comments, which are funny, but they're all "with kids I usually have food, vomit, snot AND poop on my pants by the end of the day, so it's the best way, really" comments. Yeah, let's all blame our kids! (Which, truly, is legit in my book.)

Except I was executing a pretty effective clothes mullet way before kids.

Jeans just aren't comfy unless they're super old and stretched out (in other words, not attractive - so, really, another version of a clothing mullet). Khakis are just way too cold when you live in Michigan and set your thermometer to 63 continuously. So what else is there besides comfy pants? (Well, there's the wear-a-bathrobe-over-your-clothes-mullet look, but I'll save that winner for another blog entry.)

Bring me to a restaurant or a bar? I'll sigh heavily, but I'll wear jeans. Invite me for dinner and wine? I'll grace you with my yoga pants. Invite me over for cards and beer? You get the perma-kneed, saggy-bummed sweats. Sorry. We all wish I cared more.

But move me to Texas and challenge me to see how low I can make our AC bill? Shorts, baby. Rob must be so relieved...