To Be Continued...
I will tell you later about the titanic shift in our plans for our fifth anniversary, which will happen the first weekend in November.
What you need to know is that I was suddenly in need of a cocktail dress.
Um, hello, I haven't worn a nice dress to an occasion other than a wedding in over five years. The dress that I usually wear to weddings, thanks to the hypothyroid weight gain, doesn't really fit anymore. I mean, I can get it over my head, but it is a bit too snug for my comfort. And they don't make bodyshapers with enough spandex to help me out. It would need to contain some sort of metal bands to keep everything in, and I'm pretty sure those could be deemed illegal. You know, what with the high probability of those metal bands snapping as I attempt to sit my butt in a chair and becoming dangerous shrapnel.
So yesterday night found me at Nordstrom's. I had been online to check out some of their stock, and was fairly confident going in that I could find something.
But then I had forgoten about the appendages I will affectionately term Flopsy and Mopsy. Yup, the boobs. You see, even when I was a thin teenager, Flopsy and Mopsy were always disproportionately larger than my bottom half, thus creating the problem of my hips fitting into one size, and my bust fitting into the next size.
Which usually doesn't make for a flattering fit.
To my utter dismay, they only had one style of dress I had pre-approved on the website, and even though the style matched, I wasn't too fond of the faux leopard spots dotting the top half of the wraparound dress. I was desperate, though, because it was the only one that was even semi close to what I was looking for. The rest of the dresses were either too "prom"ish or too "mother of the bride." Man, thirty five is tough.
In what should have been no suprise, Flopsy and Mopsy ruined the day. They're reliable like that.
I tore frantically at the rest of the rack, but all of the other dresses were sleeveless. Now, if I have one rule at this point in my life, it is that I must say no to sleeveless dresses. They do me no favors. Or favors for anyone else for that matter. Yes, I know, the general public can thank me later.
The saleswoman, trying to be helpful, informed me that I could purchase the aforementioned type of dress, and then buy a shrug or shawl to go over the sleeveless bits. Which to me defeats the entire purpose, but hey, I was desperate. Your mind kind of fogs over when you know your time in the mall is severely limited and you have a deadline.
I deluded myself into thinking I was ok with the notion until I noticed that on top of spending well over a hundred bucks for the dress, I was then expected to shell out an extra sixty for a shrug. Why are they charging me sixty plus dollars for a such a small piece of material? There are tops currently in the posession of Mr. Personality that are composed of more fabric.
It's a conspiracy, I tell ya. Flopsy and Mopsy agree.
What you need to know is that I was suddenly in need of a cocktail dress.
Um, hello, I haven't worn a nice dress to an occasion other than a wedding in over five years. The dress that I usually wear to weddings, thanks to the hypothyroid weight gain, doesn't really fit anymore. I mean, I can get it over my head, but it is a bit too snug for my comfort. And they don't make bodyshapers with enough spandex to help me out. It would need to contain some sort of metal bands to keep everything in, and I'm pretty sure those could be deemed illegal. You know, what with the high probability of those metal bands snapping as I attempt to sit my butt in a chair and becoming dangerous shrapnel.
So yesterday night found me at Nordstrom's. I had been online to check out some of their stock, and was fairly confident going in that I could find something.
But then I had forgoten about the appendages I will affectionately term Flopsy and Mopsy. Yup, the boobs. You see, even when I was a thin teenager, Flopsy and Mopsy were always disproportionately larger than my bottom half, thus creating the problem of my hips fitting into one size, and my bust fitting into the next size.
Which usually doesn't make for a flattering fit.
To my utter dismay, they only had one style of dress I had pre-approved on the website, and even though the style matched, I wasn't too fond of the faux leopard spots dotting the top half of the wraparound dress. I was desperate, though, because it was the only one that was even semi close to what I was looking for. The rest of the dresses were either too "prom"ish or too "mother of the bride." Man, thirty five is tough.
In what should have been no suprise, Flopsy and Mopsy ruined the day. They're reliable like that.
I tore frantically at the rest of the rack, but all of the other dresses were sleeveless. Now, if I have one rule at this point in my life, it is that I must say no to sleeveless dresses. They do me no favors. Or favors for anyone else for that matter. Yes, I know, the general public can thank me later.
The saleswoman, trying to be helpful, informed me that I could purchase the aforementioned type of dress, and then buy a shrug or shawl to go over the sleeveless bits. Which to me defeats the entire purpose, but hey, I was desperate. Your mind kind of fogs over when you know your time in the mall is severely limited and you have a deadline.
I deluded myself into thinking I was ok with the notion until I noticed that on top of spending well over a hundred bucks for the dress, I was then expected to shell out an extra sixty for a shrug. Why are they charging me sixty plus dollars for a such a small piece of material? There are tops currently in the posession of Mr. Personality that are composed of more fabric.
It's a conspiracy, I tell ya. Flopsy and Mopsy agree.
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