Tuesday, June 01, 2010


If you asked me, I would tell you it has been awhile since I went to a fancy function. If I really thought about it, I'd realize that the last time I did anything fancy, was when I was pregnant. With my first kid. In 2007. Three years ago. Unfortunately, I hadn't really thought about it until it was too late...

When I mentioned to a friend, in passing, that I was going to go a wedding this past weekend, she seemed kind of excited and asked me what kind of dress I bought. THIS SHOULD HAVE RUNG SOME ALARM BELLS IN MY HEAD. Instead, I responded with something along the lines of, "Buy a dress? HAHAHAHA. No, I'm just gonna wear something from my closet." She then said, "Oh. Uh. Oh." AGAIN, WHERE WERE THE ALARM BELLS? A day or two later, another friend asked if I was going to get my nails done and, instead of heeding the silent HELLO!?! YOU NEED TO FANCY YOURSELF UP, I fluffed it off. In the end three different friends asked me about my wardrobe and grooming for the wedding and yet I still found my self climbing into the shower on Saturday afternoon blissfully unaware of the fashion horror show I was going to become.

Saturday, as my shower progressed I was feeling good. In fact, it was only when I was shaving my legs that I thought about my wardrobe and that thought was inane and something like, "Man, I wish I had planned better so I could have borrowed my friend's handknit shawl. That'd be great for a wedding." I had no idea that mere minutes later I would arrive in my closet wearing a towel and a fine sheen of panic as outfit after outfit was deemed TOTALLY HORRIBLY UNACCEPTABLE. Now you might think I am kidding. Being a little facetious. Maybe exaggerating. I remind you, however, that the last time I dressed up I WAS PREGNANT. In fact, the last two times I dressed up I WAS PREGNANT. And before that? My body had not created and ejected TWO HUMAN BEINGS.

I first thought I would go with my LBD (little black dress). The LBD that I wore to my last two functions. Yes, I was pregnant, but the dress was not a maternity dress. It was a fat girl dress from Nordstroms so it should have been fine. WRONG. It was a fat girl dress that took my could-possibly-be-a-baby-or-a-burrito-gut and turned it into a glowing round baby-filled orb. This dress magically gave me a great pregnant belly. And guess what, IT STILL DOES. Now, as hard as it is to believe, I didn't want to show up at the wedding looking nine months pregnant.

So I decided to dig further into the recesses of my closet. Which revealed many casual skirts, three fancy skirts that were either too small or too big, one fancy skirt which fit but was IRIDESCENTLY SEQUINED, and one slightly big but doable skirt that was SHIMMERY METALLIC. In other words, NO SKIRTS. Also, where the fuck did I use to go that I thought a sequined or metallic ass was the way to go? In case you're curious, I am keeping those two skirts should I find myself in those kind of places again.

When the skirt thing tanked, I decided to take a different tack and look at tops. The results where just as dismal. Though without the bling. I could pour myself into some Saran Wrap which would not-so-lovingly show off every roll and budge, or I could wear a circus tent.

In the end I went with tight-in-the-gut, loose-in-the-thigh, a-smidge-too-short, black pants that belong to my old black suit and an asymmetrical, YES, ASYMMETRICAL, top that was black with white ovals on it. As if the "artsy" ovals were not unfortunate enough, the asymmetry left one side dangling below my hip and the other side hiked up at my waist, above my pants line.

In an attempt to counter-balance my hapless outfit, I decided to blow out my normally curly hair. Great idea, right? Wrong. All of a sudden it turned into this limp, long, stringy mess with many MANY short post-pregnancy hair-fall-out-new-regrowth-strands sticking up. Since it flopped into my eyes, I decided a clip was the way to go. A clip, holding back a poof. A poof like Sarah Palin's. Only Sarah Palin has a hell of a lot more hair than I do and the hair that she has doesn't dangle limply. I tried to compensate for my thin limp hair by making my poof bigger. All I can say is that this was a mistake.

So, in summary, I went to the wedding for one of the guy's who works for my husband, whom I had never met, and sat with a bunch of the other guys that work for my husband, that I had never met, wearing ill fitting clothes and donning a coif that even 1980's Jersey girls would have shunned.

Please learn from my shame. Buy a new outfit for a fancy event. No excuses.

1 comment:

Lisa said...

Where are the pictures? We need pictures of this!