Dear Off the Shoulder Tops,
I remember when we met last Fall. I was in Chicago. Anthropologie, specifically. You were Leifsdotter. Lace detail. Perfection. It was love at first sight. But how can you blame me for falling fast? You highlight all my best parts. I mean, who doesn’t like their shoulders and, not to brag, but I have a good neck, as necks go. So I bought you. And then…well… I bought three more just like you (this yellow one included). But I’m afraid my purchases might have been a little premature. Because while you are cute on the hanger and even in the dressing room, once I wear you out the door- like for real life– you’re nothing but a pain in the ass. I’m forced to stand like a penguin- arms at my side, elbows hugging ribs and hands on thighs. The second I move to, say, shake someone’s hand? You slide up into an awkward boat neck. And, heaven forbid, I bring my hands to my mouth to try to eat or drink? Well, then you’re up around my neck, like an even more awkward mock turtleneck. Yup, I spend half my time pulling you down, trying to re-position you as the off-the-shoulder I know and love. I’m in too deep to throw you away, but I now know that I can’t take you just anywhere. You’ve been relegated to girls nights (because lets face it, girlfriends are the only ones who appreciate a cute top) and the only accessory I’m bringing with is a long, long straw to ensure my glass never has to leave the table.
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