My sister is getting married this weekend. And following that, later this month, is moving to Japan. The whole thing was so quickly planned, and yet, it kind of snuck up on me. And being the procrasinator that I am, waited until Monday to find a dress. Did I mention I’m the matron of honor?
I bought LG’s dress way back in November. Her first formal dress, complete with patent leather shoes and a hair bow and a white furry coat. You’d think having a girl, I’d be much more impractical and buying dresses like they’re going out of style, but since this is my second time doing this baby gig, all she normally wears right now are one piece jumpsuits and knit outfits. Especially now that she’s crawling.
Anyway, I was dreading buying a dress for this damn wedding, because I hate the way I look right now. I kept putting it off until I finally mentioned to one of my friends that I hadn’t gone dress shopping yet and she practically begged me to let me go with her. Ok, maybe she didn’t beg, but she mentioned that she was going to ask to go, if I hadn’t.
Let me say that I’m thankful for two things. One she has no internal filter sometimes and she’ll just blurt out what’s in her head (she made mention of my kids Santa picture being the worst one she had seen, she later apologized, of course and because I love her dearly, I just laughed) and two, that woman has shopping down to a science. If there were a degree in shopping, she would have majored in it, with her graduate work being dress shopping. She was pulling dresses off the rack like a mad woman, short, long, ugly, gorgeous. It didn’t matter. “You have to try it on, because it might look much better on.” I have to admit, she was right. I ended up finding not one, but two dresses. Had I seen either of them on the hanger, I would have never picked them out on my own.
I went into the whole process dreading it because I had no desire to see myself in a dress. I just think of getting dressed up and I get hives. And right there is my problem. I’ve fallen prey to the sweat pant. I used to love getting dressed up for events. Of course, I was tits on a stick. Now I’m more like….bigger tits on maybe a thinner tree trunk. And it made me realize that I need to get the hell out of my comfort zone now and then. As a mom, we become identified as someone’s mother. No longer am I my own entity.
I look fabulous in that fucking dress, and I am going to rock it on Saturday.
And then I am going to come home and get into some sweatpants.