I really love clothes. For those of you see me on a regular basis, I know this is not going to make sense. You will scratch your little heads and say, really? And I will not be offended. Because lately "fashion" for me means putting jeans on to dress up instead of sweatpants, and wearing something "put together" means I remembered to put my bra on before I go to church.
But there was a time when I really did love getting up and putting thought into what I was going to wear that day. I had tons of fun jewelry and shoes...oh the shoes...I still have well over 25 pairs and I've worn the same two for the last 4 months. I rotate between a pair of moccasin slippers and grey ballet flats. And yes, the slippers are actually made to be worn outside. I haven't completely regressed into wearing a robe, slippers and my hair in curlers out in public...Yet.... I make no promises.
I have at least 10 pairs of heels. Black. Blue. Red. Grey. Brown. Purple. I haven't worn any of them since I left my corporate job almost a year ago. Well, I did attempt to wear some when I had to dress up for a wedding a few months ago. I squeezed my 5-weeks post-baby body into a pre-baby dress, picked out a pair of sexy heels and hoped for the best. It literally took me about 3 hours before I got the hang of walking in them again. I stumbled around trying not to break my ankle and attempting to look like a normal, bra-wearing member of society. When I finally felt like I wouldn't be mistaken for an escaped Amish person, I looked down and realized I had forgotten to shave my legs. I should have wondered why I felt so warm for November.
I would simply like to get dressed and know that if someone saw me out and about, they wouldn't be able to tell whether or not I have kids back at home just by how I look. Not that they would pass me on the street and exclaim "who is that charming and ever-so-stylish young starlet! I wonder what movie is being filmed here in Charleston!" I'm not that delusional. Yet. But most of the time I can be pegged as a haggard and tired mom from a mile away. Either that, or a homeless person. With dirty sweatpants, crazy eyes and cheerios stuck to my neck you can see how it might be hard to differentiate.
Later, Gators. Don't forget your panties.