Imperfection Connection: Small American Rejects

Top: Bongo, Sears
Skirt: Vanilla Star, Macy's
Shoes: Betsey Johnson, DSW
Bag: Sleepyville Critters, Zulily

Sweater: Candie's, Kohl's
Skirt: Hollister, Marshalls
Shoes: Madden Girl, Macy's
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Marshalls
Pink bracelet: Belk
Blue and marigold bracelets: Cloud Nine
Hair tie: Riah Fashion, Zulily
Hair clips: Kohl's

Top: Marshalls
Skirt: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Modcloth
Boots: Simply Vera, Kohl's
Belt: Candie's, Kohl's

Sometimes I don't like the pictures I take.  So, I end up deleting them by the dozen.  Still, some of these runners-up have a glint of something that says, "Don't discard!"  So, I file them in a folder marked "mishmosh" and let them marinate into candidates for another week, month, or year.  And that's where I found the images for today's intrepid triumvirate.  If they look familiar, then that's because they're less stellar variations of outfits I've posted before.  And if you're thinking, "Um, I don't see anything wrong with these," then I'll kindly ask you to consider that tiny pimple/freckle/growth below your left eye.  You know the one.  You obsess over it daily and think about ringing your friendly dermatologist to give it a proper Viking funeral.  (The only thing stopping you isn't the thought of burned flesh, but your dermo's not-so-tiny fee.)  Yet you needn't worry.  Because although to you it's a mountain, no one else notices it.  They're too busy obsessing over their own, ahem, molehills.  Except for maybe that creepy crawler stalker of a gas station attendant who stares at you every Friday.  But he's got a goiter the size of a grapefruit, so what does he know? 

Speaking of things that are imperfect but lovely (you, that is, not goiter guy), take a look at this tree:

You may remember it with me posed in front.  Only then it was a-flower with summer's white lace and fall's purple frills.  Now it's brown and withered and more paper bag than ruffly dress.  But the last time I really looked at it (I can see it from my kitchen window), I couldn't help but think how striking it is against the cerulean sky.  Like an earthy sweater vest over a robin's egg blue blouse on the wacky neighbor on a '70s sitcom.

A sweater and blouse combo that are so arresting, may I add, that the neighbor's lazy eye escapes you completely.

So here's to lazy eyes and not-so-lazy sweater vests and the real and fictional people who wear them.  May the sun never set on your splendor.  And may your eye patch never clash with your loafers.