Back here I was complaining about how, when going out to dinner around here, the other diners dress as if they were going to the club. The athletic club, I mean.
But now I get it. They aren’t on their way to work out, they’re on their way home!
This past Saturday, my husband and I had business in a little logging town an hour or so away. I was wearing khaki capris, ivory flats, and a uniform polo with a shirt tucked in under for coverage. Well, it was hot when we left at 3 and, of course, I had brought my Chacos. After obtaining my husband’s permission, I whipped off my uniform shirt and I was dressed for the beach.
Unfortunately we didn’t find anywhere we wanted to eat at the “beach”, so there I was, at that same restaurant, dressed in heather gray men’s A-shirt, capris, and Chacos, with my wind-blown hair and little make-up. Now I get it.
