A plus size black linen joggers outfit for transitioning from summer into fall. Just layer with a white denim jacket as needed.
For one, linen is always going to wrinkle. Always.
And really, that is part of the look. You know, that rich bougie b!tch look that I love so much!
Two, a linen-blend will wrinkle less (these joggers are not a blend).
And three, if you iron with starch, linen will wrinkle a little less. But, I say, just let it go!
Show Some Lace
All of them have beautiful lace back details.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you might remember a recent post in which I talked about the time I simultaneously fractured one ankle and badly sprained the other.
I also mentioned a first date that ended in utter humiliation due to said injuries. And Adele mentioned she wanted to hear about the date in the comments. So, Adele, this is for you.
Now I have had many [many] bad dates, but this was probably the first time that I, Alexa Webb, was the bad date.
I’m probably going to regret making this story public, but here goes! Lol. Also, I want to preface this. I was in my 20s when this happened. I digress.
So the evening after my catastrophic fall I was supposed to go on a first date with someone I had “met” online. We had been talking for weeks. But, obviously, I had to postpone the date.
Fast forward three or so more weeks of talking, I finally decide I am well enough to meet.
Problems One & Two
Problems one & two: I had to wear my ankle braces. And I’m going to keep it real with you, my ankle braces stunk. Quite literally.
But, my ankles were so severely injured that I couldn’t leave the braces off long enough to wash them and let them fully dry.
I had washed them but ultimately had to put them back on before they were even dry due to severe pain.
And part of the reason they smelled was that the only shoes that fit my feet with the braces on were a pair of old sneakers.
And not only were my sneakers old and gross, I had worn them in a river. I was wearing “river shoes.” On a date.
Anyone with forethought would have realized this was an issue. And not wanting to make a questionable first impression would have waited to go out until some solutions could be found. But apparently that’s not me!
So my “solution” was to ask my date if we could go somewhere casual and just wear jeans and sneakers. He was going to be coming straight from work, so he was like “Sure, I’m going to be dressed like a work nerd.”
Next, I put a ton of odor-neutralizing powder in my shoes. Problem solved!
We lived in different cities. And the plan was to meet near him because I was headed to my friend’s apartment in DC that night for an event the next day.
He asked me my favorite type of food and, as always, I said Mexican food.
So the final plan was a Mexican restaurant somewhere off the Metro between his work and house.
After making the drive in my manual transmission car, my ankles were killing me! I had already taken some Tylenol but that wasn’t enough to keep me from limping. And I’ll be honest, I was thinking limping is SO not attractive!
So, I decide I can take one-quarter of a pain pill. Just enough to keep me from limping, but not enough to make me loopy. Seems like a great idea, right?
Turns out my date is running late. So the hostess suggests I wait in the bar.
At the bar, I order a margarita. I figure slowly sipping one drink can’t hurt. Plus, I’m super nervous, a little liquid courage might help.
At this point, I have completely forgotten that I had taken that sliver of pain medication. Duh.
The bartender brings me two margaritas. Yes, two. It’s happy hour. And they’re buy one, get one free. I should also mention that they’re the big ones that come with a shaker of excess.
So here I am, trying to pace myself with giant drinks in front of me. The bar is packed and people are really partying even though it’s barely 5pm on a Thursday.
And then I realize, it’s Cinco de Mayo! And I’m in a Mexican restaurant!
At this point, it’s been nearly forty-five minutes. And my date texts another apology and says he’s one Metro stop away.
I know I’m buzzed, but I am feeling good. I’m fine. Everything is fine.
So by the time my date arrives, our reservations are moot and we have to wait [at the bar] for our table. He’s like, “Yes, let’s get some drinks!” I’m thinking to myself, Alexa, slow your roll, girl!
But, the date is going well. I’m having a great time. And I’m managing to stay in the buzzed but not drunk zone.
However, as I mentioned, it’s Cinco de Mayo and now the Jose Cuervo distributer is circulating shot girls for the happy hour.
So next thing I know, I’m doing a shot of tequila. I reassure myself. I’m done drinking and I’m going to eat. Problem solved!
We decide to eat at the bar because of the long wait for a table. And I’m thinking, the sooner I can absorb some of this tequila, the better!
So, everything is going great until I stand up. Then I realize, I am drunk.
Have you ever been sitting at a bar and feeling like you have life mastered until you stand up? Yup, that was me.
So I try to act “not drunk” because… how embarrassing? I think to myself, I’ll just sit in the parking lot for as long as it takes to sober up.
But, my date realizes that I’m intoxicated. And he’s like, “I don’t think you should drive.”
He offers to drive my car back to his house which is sort of on the way to my friend’s house. At this point, I don’t even think I have a choice as I probably needed a caretaker. Ridiculous, I know.
So my date is being a good sport. He was very sweet. He had made me a CD of my favorite jams mixed together (he’s a DJ). So we cranked the tunes and headed to the highway. I was feeling great, drunk, but great.
Until, as if in slow motion, I went to flick my cigarette ash (I used to be a smoker) out of the window and instead managed to fling it across the car and watch it land in my date’s crotch.
Yes, now I have lit my date’s undercarriage on fire!
And I’m so embarrassed that it actually delays my screaming. Finally, I yell out! So he crosses multiple lanes of traffic, calmly, to pull over and find said cigarette to put it out!
We get to his apartment, which I should mention is on the third floor. So I drag my injured ego and injured ankles up three flights of steps.
When I finally get there I’m all winded and limp-y. I walk inside and I see all of his shoes on little shelves by the door. He says, “Oh please take your shoes off.” I stop.
I know that my stinky ankle braces need to stay in my stinky shoes. I mean there is no coming back from this.
As a woman, you can’t casually and drunkenly be like “I was in a river last month.” Or “Oh, I have ‘river shoes.'”
I then almost started to argue with him. But, being that he had to go change out of his work trousers that I burned a hole in, it seemed like I shouldn’t argue.
So I decided I should just assume that I will never speak to this man again.
I take off my shoes. And I can most certainly smell my stinky foot situation. I say nothing. Really, what could I say?
So we end up watching a movie. The whole time I am trying to evaluate just how intense my feet smell. It was a great time!
After the movie, I feel like I can drive. And more than anything, I just want to put my shoes on and go die in shame somewhere.
He walks me to my car, which is chivalrous and lovely. But, being that the Tylenol and pain meds have worn off, I can now barely navigate the three flights of steps.
I am holding on to the banister for dear life and going down sideways like a geriatric. At one point, I actually considered sliding down on my butt.
So as I drove to DC, I replayed the evening and figured three strikes and you’re out.
But, the next day, I get a hello text. I’m shocked. He then says, “You left something here.” I’m thinking, yeah, my pride.
What? “Your insole.” I’m not kidding. I check my shoes. Sure enough.
I am missing one stinky insole.
Plus Size Black Linen Joggers Outfit
Shop the Look
See another outfit idea with similar black linen pants here.
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