Oh, my God. No, Natasha. You know what is not still unwritten? MY HORROR.
This is the kind of thing you wear when you call the paparazzi and tell them you’re going to the doctor/Bristol Farms market/the gym, so they will run a photo of your hot abs but you can still claim it was just your lounging clothes. Bonus points if you’re doing it after a breakup, so you can fill your shopping cart with high-calorie feelings and yet still remind everyone your stomach is taut even in grief. It’s a janky hellpile even so, but as something you have actually picked out and lovingly fluffed and prepared for your big night out on a red carpet, it is A CHARRED HEAP OF CRAZY ON A KEBAB. Because those are SWEATPANTS. And that is a bra. And the rest is just crocheted skin. I’m sorry, guys, but Granny has to come out to play: WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY. WEAR YOUR SWEATPANTS TO YOGA AND WEAR YOUR ABS IN YOUR HOUSE.