Just plain terrible at it

I am good at a lot of things. I make a killer creme brulee. I'm a great nanny. I tell a decent joke.  And I can probably drink you under the table. But when it comes to dressing myself I am completely and utterly hopeless.  It's not that I don't care, I really, truly do.  I go to stores fully intending on getting some nice, reasonable outfits, yet somehow I always end up leaving with a singular t-shirt, usually bearing the face of a super-hero or beer mascot.  The few nice clothes I own never seem to get worn with dignity. Usually wrinkled or covered in some combination of spilled Old Style and Camembert. Yesterday I thought I would look quite professional in a button-down safari-esque dress I had purchased from H&M.  I probably would have too, if hadn't been running late and had time to maybe iron it and figure out how to remove the patatas bravas out of the skirt.  It also certainly doesn't help that I am not at all a morning person and most mornings I dress myself, quite literally, with my eyes shut. I once got halfway through my work day before realizing my shirt was completely transparent. I'm talking so see through you could read my ribcage tattoo.  More than a little embarrassing.  So now I do believe it's time to make a real effort to dress like a capable adult. Might as well blog about it as I go.