Typically my deliberations over what to wear go something like this:
“Hmmm, bra or tank top with shelf bar?”
“T-shirt or sweater, lift or unzip?” It’s a nursing thing.
“Jeans or something that isn’t jeans?”
“Pony tail or Red Sox cap?”
“Ankle socks or wool socks?”
This routine lulls me into a false sense of being low maintenance. Then events like the big one I have coming up next month bring to light the reality that I am actually a girl who, dare I say, likes getting dolled up…maybe even tarted up. If only that were as easy to do as it is to imagine.
We are less than 3 weeks away from the big event and I have nothing to wear. Literally. Because even I know that I can’t make jeans or cords work at this event no matter how many sequins I incorporate or how thickly I lay on the mascara. Seems that in some fit of longing for organization I threw out all the slinky little this and thats I had purchased over the years. Surely I could have cobbled together an outfit with a chiffon skirt and spangled halter, no?
I am 33. A mother of two. I cannot work Wet Seal and TJ Maxx clearance buys into something appropriate for an almost black tie event. As I find my age group in online surveys moving closer to the middle and further from the perky 18- younger than I am age, I realize that certain kinds of tank tops are not appropriate outside of the house (unless of course I am wearing a hoodie or am out on a walk with a Baby Bjorn covering parts
(So sue me, I can’t quite embrace all the rule of fashion appropriateness when it’s really hot. But I swear that when the time comes I will have the good sense of Diane Keaton to cover stuff up and look ravishing…please can I look that good when I am 60? Vain? You bet. Are you telling me you don’t want to look like Diane Keaton? Helen Mirren?)
So I am in the market for a dress. Or an outfit. Though, as I learned in my travels online tonight, not
the flippy, fun evening top and slacks look.
“Naw. I’ve seen you do that. A lot. Yeah, you’ve done that look many times.” Sean told me dismissively.
Ugh. Great. I guess just cause it ain’t broke doesn’t mean you shouldn’t fix it.
Let me share some ideas. This first one, I would never in a million years have the balls to wear. And besides, if I had balls, it would just be really weird if I wore it.
It’s cute though, right? Maybe 8 years ago. Probably not. Anyone who has the nerve to wear this, I envy you. Buy it, wear it, send me a picture you ballsy gal you!
Ok, the next one, same brand as the previous, but with an actual chance of me wearing it. However after some reflection I think that the theme of the event, That’s Amore, this dress would make me look like a server. Or some sort of evening attired spanish soldier.
Sean said black dresses were super predictable and didn’t I want to look different. Then he saw the pathetic so-help-me-I-am-losing-all-hope-and-may-have-a-breakdown-any-minute look and said, “Oooh, that one’s nice.”
This is what I call the cute, but no way in hell I’ll wear it cause it’s a tired look top.
So where does this leave me?
I honestly don’t think he’d agree to have me on his arm if I wore a kimono.
With this one I’d have something to do with my hands when I got nervous. I’d just braid the night away.
“What’s that? You’re nervous too? Here, you braid the back.”
Of course I could always go the “I know it’s a boring design, but the potential for nip slips make it tough to look away” type of dress
Anyone wanna conga?
I am no longer having fun despite the festiveness of the last dress. What the hell am I going to wear?