Along with the predictable issues involved in acclimating to a new school year–waking up early, talking for six hours a day, standing for six hours a day, retraining my bladder to the bell schedule, remembering the fine art of standing for a thirty minute duty outside while eating a hot meal and drinking a lukewarm Coke Zero–I inevitably experience THE WARDROBE CRISIS.

Most of it is my own fault. At least that’s the conclusion of Carrie, one of my dearest friends both in and out of my teaching universe. She most always selects her ensemble the night before, irons it (I’m thinking that’s a Southern woman thing?), then places her shoes and jewelry nearby. She slips into bed for a restful slumber, and she wakes up with one less frightful decision.

I blame my thighs. They’re so confrontational. Perhaps it’s because they’re protesting being depositories for the Blue Bell ice cream that’s lately become a nightly ritual. Really, if they’d just tighten up, the other half of my closet would suddenly become available. Of course, Carrie’s thighs are cooperative because they know she’s going to punish them in spin class three days a week. The closest mine ever get to “spin” is when I’m standing near the washing machine.

With Labor Day bearing down on us, I’m frantic to exhaust my summer clothes before then. Heaven forbid we Southern women wear white after Labor Day. Even though the weather from September through January ranges from slightly humid with thunderstorms to morbidly humid with torrential storms and hurricane-force winds, no respectable Louisiana woman would venture outside in anything but winter white.

I try on clothes most mornings like the lipsuction fairy visited me overnight. Tuesday, the pants were a bit too friendly. Wednesday, I pull them on again. Shocker…they’re still too acquainted with my body parts. It’s such a delicate balance, this wardrobing for school.  Comfortable is forever important, but so is not looking as if I found a remnant sale at the linen tent factory. There’s also the neckline problem since bending at the waist to help students sitting in their desks is a consideration.

And, since I’ve been on a diet since 1992, losing on average, an ounce every other week, I’m waiting to reach my goal weight before dropping a bundle on new clothes. But after reading an article in the New York Times, I’m painfully aware of how high I am on the fashion police’s most wanted list. Actually, based on what it costs to be truly fashionable, I’d be on the most wanted list anyway because I’d have to be a career criminal to afford the clothes.

For instance, this ensemble is a bargain at only $3,467 (blazer $1,195; mini dress $346; platform heels $1,115; brooch $495; necklaces $316).  Compared to $4,900 for an all-over sequined dress the writer found, you’d have money left over to buy another pair of platform heels and a new necklace. Also fortunate is that there are bargains to be had in silk crepe blouses; the more affordable ones are priced at $495 to $695.

Hemlines this fall, “flutter around the knee.” [Someone in the fashion industry has redefined one or more of the following words: flutter, around or knee.]

My mundane, pedestrian wardrobe challenges have been reduced to woefully and pathetically insignificant.