40 skirts

I've never been someone who often wears skirts. Not to say it's an unknown part of my wardrobe, what with my weekly church "habit" and all for the past three decades. My passion for fashion has not frequently won out over my passion for slouchy c-o-m-f-o-r-t. But, as she often has in the past, my college roommate, Jenny, nudged me into changing my clothing habits. Before meeting her, the only people I had heard discussing the word "season" in relation to clothing was perhaps when the noon duties would get mad at me and Chandra for not wearing proper seasonal winter gear (hey, we were warm-blooded little tykes who were unfairly banned from the metal playground equipment that populated our school playground with un-startling regularity). I still recall the debate over a forest-green, short-sleeved dress freshman year. The color puts it in fall or winter, but the cut places it in summer. See, this is the problem I encounter every time I'm tempted to buy a yellow sweater. Why do the designers seek to confuse us?

I got to spend time with Jenny this past summer in Washington--fabulous visit, awesome kids, brownie sundaes with movie nights that tempted me to move in, topped off with a generous parting gift--a pile of skirts. Luckily, I had the fortunate timing of arriving after Jenny pruned her closet. I left a few with Chandra in Utah, then added them to my own wardrobe up in the high fashion capital of Anchorage, Alaska. After scrounging for adequate hanger coverage, I got curious and started counting. Turned out I own 40 SKIRTS. Of course, some of them are skirts that mark you immediately as a member of a wedding party, but still! Shocked me. So if you've noticed me showing more leg of late, your observations are spot on. I've averaged perhaps a 5:2--at minimum a 4:3--ratio of skirt- to pants-wearing-days a week since July. Admittedly, the long snap of below-zero weather in November was quite a trial to my newfound habit, though.

I still hate nylons.