You've read my hand-wringing, tear-jerking accounts of my failures at romance. You know all there is to know when it comes to my so called career in the music business. Let's talk fashion now.
To say that I have my own sense of style is to kindly avoid any direct assault on my taste in clothes and personal grooming. Just like my music, my sense of style comes into fashion once or twice a decade for a short stretch. You know, like a broken clock; right twice a day.
I vividly recall finding a layered look that appealed to me on a fishing trip when I was about five or six years old. I put my orange baseball cap on over my chartreuse cap, leaving the tip of the bright green bill showing elegantly under the orange.
Well, Aunt Jo told me that the boat wouldn't hold the weight of the extra cap and that I would have to choose one or the other. Of course I knew a bum excuse when I heard one. I was young, not stupid. I suppose that she was embarrassed to be seen with me, even out in the middle of an Alabama river, with two hats on.
You might check with women in my life today. I don't try anything as flashy as two caps at once these days. I'm older and more sophisticated now. I can still be the source of foot shuffling, though, with lots of, "You're not going to were that, are you?" If I tell you how much I love Aunt Jo you will appreciate the fact that I empathize with all who try to help. I'm going to a party tomorrow night. I don't want to cause any problems.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
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