I haven't quite recovered from the three rather alarming sightings I had last evening.
First, I was at Third and Pine when I was stopped in my tracks (OK, I also had to stop for the light) by the horrifying visual confirmation that the 80s were coming back into vogue. As evidence, I present you with this: stonewashed denim mini-skirt over black capri leggings, topped by a rather abstract Flashdance-inspired T-shirt and a pair of the largest plastic hoop earrings I have ever seen.
It is said that one should not wear a certain look if one is old enough to have worn said look the first time around. Well I am, so I won't. Enough said.
I was still mesmerized by the idea of big plastic hoop earrings when I encountered a second fugly vision, only moments and one city block later.
Picture this: faux dark tan, faux blonde hair forced into pigtails that were somewhat reminiscent of Pippi Longstocking (i.e., sticking straight out from the sides of her head), set off gaudily by a matching sweatshirt and baseball cap in a hideous shade of pink that I can only describe as the sickly love child of Pepto-Bismol and bubblegum.
To make matters worse, I couldn't decide if the poor deluded woman was way too old to be wearing pigtails and that much pink, or if years of hitting the tanning beds had rendered her old beyond her years. Not pretty, either way.
I had a brief reprieve before the third sighting: an apparently sane woman pushing her Daschund through the park in a baby stroller. This encounter brings up so many questions. Is this poor woman so wanting a child that she is driven to pretend that her dog is in fact a child? (Anyone with pets knows they are indeed akin to children, but honestly now!) Does she enjoy longer walks than her dog's little legs can handle? Did her beloved canine have some sort of surgery that makes it unable to go for walks? Sadly, I will probably never know the answer.