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And so, the fam and I have a wedding to go to pretty soon. I never knew I could stress so much over someone else’s wedding.
The last wedding Neil and I went to (that wasn’t our wedding) turned out to be five days before Isla was born.
My dress was a tent, we put googley eyes on the bump, I fell asleep during dinner, and everyone was proud of me for just showing up (That one time I appreciated the sentiment)
This time, no such excuse.
The thing is this. I used to dress up, and by dress up I mean wear jeans. And suits. To work.
I used to go out in tops that put my boobs in the right place. I used to get my hair done every six weeks, and wore more quirky jewellery than Phoebe on Friends.
That doesn’t happen anymore.
As I write this, I’m sitting in pyjama pants from Christmas and a shirt from 2003.
I rotate the same 4 sweaters when I eventually go out, and even my jeans have been replaced with I don’t know, parachute pants.
My mother is concerned.
We Skype, and she has suggested I’m letting myself go. And I am no longer allowed to wear a boxy orange sweater that is my actual favorite.
I used to hate orange, but now I think it suits me.
But maybe that’s because I wear that orange sweater all the time. When I bought it, I thought it made a statement with its brightness. These days, it’s probably saying ‘Enough already.’
Not unlike my mother.
‘Do your hair,’ she says.
And then we discuss how I can’t get in to see anyone local, and the hairdressers that come to your house aren’t taking on new clients. How when I go to the city I don’t feel like spending four of our 48 hours sitting in front of a salon mirror that accentuates my damn pores and everything.
When in the city, there’s friends to see, and coffee to drink and nachos to eat.
So, no. I haven’t had my hair done.
I tame the frizz with argan oil.
Frizz-Ease used to be my best friend (I was honestly a prime example of the before and after photos) but it doesn’t work on my hair anymore.
And can we also talk about my silver streak that I like to call Bonnie Raitt?
I like that streak. I earned that streak.
But I may have bought a box of hair color on a city trip.
I was looking for a dress to wear to this wedding we have to go to.
I should mention that my Dad and stepmother-type person bought me a dress for Christmas, that they thought I could wear for the wedding.
I’m nearly 38 and all my parental units give me fashion advice. I appreciate it, sometimes. And sometimes, I even take it.
This dress that they bought for me is actually a shirt to wear over leggings. Which would be cool, but maybe not suitable for a wedding.
It’s also burgundy crushed velvet. I tried it on, and wore it for a day. I felt like I was 14 again, and should have been wearing Charlie perfume for all the nostalgic feels.
‘Mummy, you should get this gold dress,’ suggests Isla.
‘Because it matches your eyes. You have hazel eyes, and they are kinda goldy.’
Now, that’s one of the most wonderful things she’s ever said to me, but no gold dress.
Isla, my personal shopper also suggested animal prints, that my mother would like, and hot pink bow action that nobody liked.
And there was nothing that accommodated my wide shoulders, and nothing in my actual size.
Also since I’m sitting, I need flowing waists that fall in the right place, and don’t cut me in half.
It was suggested by several sales people that I go to the more ‘generous’ clothes places.
Which is fine, I like those shops. That’s where I shop. But none of them were where we were.
And if people like me, with shoulders and boobs and rolls, are looking for our sizes, and you have to ‘order it in’ that’s kinda not cool. Sometimes we’d just like to have successful shopping trips, because this thing is like, next week, see?
I did end up ordering a dress. Online. In my size. 20 is a nice number.
I actually would have done so before, but I had to wait for my size to come in, and I wasn’t sure it would, so off we went to the real mall.
Where I bought two boxes of hair dye for me, and party shoes for Isla.
I don’t know if I’ll use the dye, but y’know, it’s there.
I’ve made an effort, as they say.
Everyone likes my dress. Isla too, even though it’s not gold.
The question is, will it arrive before I have to y’know, wear it?
And I’ll end with another question, the same question my mother asked me last week:
When’s the last time you bought yourself something nice, or did something only for you?
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