Formal attire typically means black tie or an evening gown for the ladies.
Casual attire runs the gamut these days...anything from jeans and sneakers to dress slacks and a nice sweater.
Business attire means wearing nothing revealing; sort of a sterile sea of muted grays and blacks, with top buttons opened or fixed with a tie...except on Friday when almost anything goes.
Writing attire features an array of fashion all its own. I should know. I'm the designer. I created writing attire and its affilliate of web sites, glossy magazines and reality shows. I am the writing fashion guru. Writers flock to me in droves, dying to emulate the electic distinction of my haute fashion sense. People who arrive at my front door unexpectedly are among the first to review each day's eclectic ensemble.
Monday it was the FedEx man. Ringing the bell at 9:15 AM he is greeted by the mismatched pajama ensemble...otherwise known as one of my husband's old t-shirts with a pair of polka-dotted pajama pants one size too large. Complementing the outfit is a thick tuft of dog fur that has affixed itself to my rear end in hopes of becoming a new line of jewelry designed in Paris in the spring.
On Wednesday it was the mailman. I've know Steve for years, so he's never surprised about my mode of dress. This particular day it included a pair of hot pink faux shearling slippers with glitter accents accompanying a nightgown that once belonged to my mother-in-law (the dear lady passed on it 2006) and a yellowed terry cloth robe bearing my husband's initials. It was a far cry better than Monday's outfit. The drawback on this particular day was that Steve rang the bell at 3 in the afternoon.
By Friday I'd spiffed up my act and gone all out in my choice of writing attire. Dressing before noon, I sported my 16-year old daughter's shirt that boasted #61 Bronson Arroyo...leftover from his Red Sox days, and a pair of jeans my older son abandoned in the laundry room downstairs. Doesn't sound so bad, does it? Add some lipgloss and a stab at fake eyelashes (they're the new mascara for older women....did you know that?) and I was downright stylin' in my snazzy duds.....until the doorbell rang. Now I don't know about you, but I find that because I work at home people think I'm doing nothing. I must be simply sitting around filing my nails and popping bon bons into my perfectly lined and glossed lips...just waiting for their visit. False alarm. It was the UPS man. We've had numerous conversations over the years. A pleasant man with children who are homeschooled....we're definitely on the same page.
I let him in with my packages and chatted about the weather. He talked about the Red Sox and how 2007 was another great season. As he left he asked if I'd considered calling an exterminator for the centipede problem.
"Centipede?" I asked curiously.
Stooping to the floor with a small envelope in hand, he procured the centipede and said they'd had a similar issue last year in their home. I thanked him and offered to throw the vile creature out and yes, definitely call the exterminator.
Once he left I scooped my false eyelash from the crumbled up envelope the UPS driver had handed me, and decided that Saturday's outfit...complete with high top bright orange sneakers, would be highlighted with mascara...old woman or not!
Next week I plan to unveil a new line of writing attire. This one will be for men. I'm looking for models. Any volunteers?