I did not wear my onesie today. I had a lot of errands and appointments and things. And, I just couldn't bear to have to answer to a whole bunch of people about my new religion.
There's something about the onesie. That single zipper. Being all naked inside and just knowing there's only this silly bag of denim between you and the world.
The simplicity of wearing a skin that has the same overall shape as your own.
Maybe I'll wear my onesie to bed.
Am I looking for mother's milk?
Is it an odd tribute to Barry Gibb?
Oh Onesie, what are you, really, to me?
2 comments:
Maybe we need to be bold. We need to chuck out our other clothes so we only have the onesie. Maybe a second black one for funerals and weddings.
Note to America and the Rest of the World: I wear underwear under my onesie.
This is starting to bear an odd resemblance to a Mao Suit.
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