Fiesta Cat introduced a new idea to me. I just discovered spat boots. They have a folded down cowl around the ankle. They’re trendy and a little orthopedic looking. I asked her if I could get away with buying some. See, I’m not one to change out her shoes every season. They have to last me past when they’re no longer fashionable. Fortunately, I don’t live in a fashionable town. I live in a place where people do their own things. Like make dog rickshaws (no picture at that link, just the story of how I saw one, for reals for reals).
Whenever someone who hasn’t been back from New York in a minute comes home to the Yay Area, two things happen. First off, they are cold if it is summertime. They forget that it’s going to be 50º F at night. Secondly, they see some fools wearing some shit you won’t see anywhere else, simply because societal pressures won’t allow it other places. The shame deficit here is high. You get viking helmets and shit. Sock garters and shorts. Hot pants and shearling vests with pantyhose and Crocs. I will pit San Francisco against any other town for pure balls to the walls cray-cray dressing any day of the week.
So I can wear something way past its expiration date. I might just do it. I think they’re super fun. If not a little weird. Which is a selling point for me.
But what Fiesta Cat told me is that your ghost is wearing whatever you die in. So I should get the spat boots because then I’m more likely to die in them. Well, I’m not going to die in them at all if I don’t buy them.
Is it better to be a trendy ghost? You might end up looking like Marilyn McCoo! I mean, she was hot at the time. But if you’re not, you might look like you’re out of the Land’s End catalog. Boring! I’d rather look like I’m out of Heathers than LL Bean. But I’m in my yoga clothes now, and look a mess. I should class it up a little, in case I die. Maybe I should always put lipstick on when I feel really sick. And–this is something Fiesta Cat mentioned–what if you’re naked? Do ghosts shun the naked ghosts? Or maybe they’re the life of the party? Maybe there are ghost castes, according to what you look like.
What if you’re wearing your favorite outfit? What if you manifest that? I’m pretty attached to my plaid pants. I could see them coming up on me when I die. Then it’d be even weirder to come across a nudist. I could see people shunning the naked ghosts then. There would be a huge ghost nudist colony, though, so I think it would be okay. Better than Mormon heaven, where you have to sit at long white tables with your fucking family. Jesus, that sounds awful. Please, God, no Thanksgiving for eternity. That sounds more like hell. I’d rather be stuck in my sports bra with stringy hair.