My brother is getting married this weekend. In Waco, Texas. Which means, once again, I am spending my
hard-earned money traveling to the Lone Star State. As if flying to Fort Worth once a month for FIFTEEN MONTHS wasn’t enough. But I digress.
One weekend about a month ago, the Manfriend and I were out shopping. And when I say “we were shopping,” I really mean he was shopping and I was tagging along for the Starbucks coffee BECAUSE SOME THINGS DON’T CHANGE. I still love me some Starbucks coffee. It’s not as sweet these days (cuz sugar is pure evil), but still amazing.
Anyway, we were in Banana Republic and I was waiting/browsing and stumbled across a dress. A cute dress. And it was on sale! I tried it on, not really expecting it to fit because thin-ish people who used to be fat never get used to clothes fitting, but IT FIT. It was snug yet flattering around all the hills and valleys. The quality felt nice. It was simple without being too casual and dressy without feeling too formal. The perfect wedding attire! I bought it immediately.
Fast forward a month to this past Sunday night. FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING. Little brother sends the family a group message informing us that “the wedding is garden party attire” and, even better, their colors are “mauve and green” and “it would be great it you tried to match for the motherfucking family photos.” (He did not say “motherfucking,” I added that for effect.)
Cue not being able to sleep.
Cue nightmares of me embarrassing the entire family.
I’m not a girly-girl! I didn’t even own a dress before the trip to Banana Republic! (I can feel you judging me.) I wear jeans! That’s all I want in life is to wear jeans!
I’ve spent the last two days shopping, trying on countless dresses, and stressing the fuck out. I came home with two dresses. I thought both were The One. Until I tried them at home on and decided they weren’t. (I have a terrible problem buying clothes that are too big. It’s a former-fat-girl problem.)
Last night, after bringing home dress #2, I was continuing to stress the fuck out (I need SHOES! and a CARDIGAN! and JEWELRY!), when I finally said- Fuck it. I’m wearing slacks.
HEAR ME OUT.
I have nice gray slacks. I have a super cute, super feminine, super flattering, super Spring-y/Garden-Party-Attire-y blouse in different shades of pinks and greens THAT WILL WORK JUST FINE. I have cute shoes. I will buy a cute cardigan. IT WILL ALL BE FINE. I’m sure I won’t be the only girl there that’s wearing pants (to which Manfriend replied, “maybe the only straight one”) and I’m sure I wont embarrass my entire family.
This has to be okay. I need to sleep.
Today, a good friend/co-worker brought me a bunch of dresses to borrow. I will try them on because the girl in me still hopes I’ll find a dress that fits (and is comfortable and flattering and jeans), but if none of them work? I AM GOING TO BE OKAY WITH THAT.
And that’s the end of the great 2018 dress fiasco.
(At least until the next wedding in October.)