AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I found this picture on the internet. That face is akin to the face I have been making for the past hour and a half as I rushed around my room trying to figure out what on EARTH I was going to wear.
I like this picture. It makes me laugh.
Anyways.
My fashion dilemma.
So, for the past week, I've known exactly what I wanted to wear to the extravaganza (Yes, that is what I am referring to it as) tomorrow. It was perfect, too.
I have this glorious silk wrap top in a navy blue that I pair with a lovely lace camisole. The wrap part is made of sheer ribbon and it ties in a beautiful bow on the side. The short, cropped sleeves have those delicious teeny-tiny old-fashioned fabric buttons on them for a retro vintage sort of look.
Gorgeous.
I was going to finish it off with my favorite pair of dark denim, hug-your-curves, straight-legged jeans that I like to wear when I need a shallow ego boost and my favorite pair of patent leather, four-inch, peep-toe heels.
Classy, with a little bit of sexy thrown in for kicks, right?
Wrong!
I decided to try the outfit on tonight, just to be sure, even though I was confident it would look great. Confidence is attractive. Over-confidence is deadly.
Did it matter that I hadn't worn this special top in over two years? No.
Did it matter that I bought that pretty camisole when I was shorter, and a fair bit less bustier? Of course not!
And what about those high heels that I've never worn with those particular jeans, and have no idea what the heighth of the heel is going to do to the length of the hem? Pppsh, forget about it! No problems.
Yes, problems.
Lots of problems.
The shirt's too short, the camisole is way too tight, the girls are poppin' out and the length of the jeans looks HORRIBLE with the heels.
NOT TO MENTION the fact that I had a few peices of halloween candy and a few handfuls of doritos this afternoon and even though I ran 3.89 MILES today, I can't get the stinking pants to button.To BUTTON, for goodness sakes!
You have NO idea what that does to an inflated ego.
Phizzle..... Phizzle.... Ph.....izzle......phizzzzzzzzz........
*sound of my inflated ego dying FAST and being replaced with HUGE waves of "I'M SOOO FAAAATTTTTT!" and increased panicking as "freak mode" begins to take over*
Yeah, kind of like that...
So anyways, mild hysteria sets in. My sweet, pretty, relaxed and comfortable room becomes an evil, ugly, embattled warzone of clothes, hangers and shoes. Not pretty... and fairly dangerous, if you have bad ankles and a hellish heeled boot is lurking nearby under an innocent-looking cardigan sweater.
I try EVERYTHING. And I mean EVERYTHING. Other shiny, glittering tops, cardigans, tunics, shoes, etc.
But I am hellbent to wear those pants. All week I've been picturing that outfit in my head, barely containing my excitement to wear it and go out for a night on the town with my best friend! To eat Cuban food in those jeans, to take a jaunt on a city-lit street at night in those jeans, to cross my legs in uncontrollable excitement as those gorgeous voices reach my eager ears in THOSE jeans!
And then, just as everything seems lost and I look around my torn and battered room in ultimate defeat, nightmarish visions of myself wearing something similar to a gunny-sack to the concert, paired with corn husk shoes and streaming makeup haunting my every move as I start to circle the room, less panicked more focused, completely at a loss for what to wear.... it hits me.
The dress.
THE dress.
Not my favorite dress, and not the most stunning dress I own, but it's the best and closest thing to a clothing item soul mate that I will ever have.
I'm telling you, I have had this particular black dress (I own several. Don't give me that look. You know you do too.) for a long time. Like, almost five years, and it has saved my butt on more than one or two occasions.
It's a simple black dress, v-necked, ties in the back with capped sleeves and an elegant, but in an understated -sort- of -way skirt.
It's perfect, is what it is.
Tired, and battleworn, I reach to the very back of my closet and pull it off the hanger. (It's now one of the very few items left still on hangers).
Curiously, and with bated breath I slip it on over my head, grab a pair of simple black leggings from my drawer to dress it down, and take a look in the mirror.
A huge sigh of relief escapes. I lunge for my trusty pair of slouchy, fake-leather, almost-cowboy-style-but-really-more-pirate-ish black boots and slip them on over the leggings.
A smile breaks out and dances for joy on my face. The search is over.
Renewed and excited, I kick off the boots and try my favorite pair of red patent- leather pumps. Steve Madden. Nordstrom's knock-off... Every girl should own a pair.
AH! Even better. Now I have TWO options! TWO completely different looks, and TWO more reasons to thank Heaven above for that absolute, life-saving blessing of a simple black dress.
No gunny sacks, NO corn husk shoes, no feeling too fat squeezing into tight jeans with a half-hearted attempt at throwing together a frumpy lace camisole and a black cardigan on top, and best of all, no second-guessing every second how I look.
Confidence, and reliability, are wonderful things. And when you're confident because you're relying on something that has proven time and again to pass with shining colors and victorious fanfare, etc., nothing can bring you down.
Nothing.
Especially when you're feeling so confidant and relying on something SO wonderful because you're seeing these five delicious Irishmen (and one Scotsman) live in concert and the simple satisfaction that you know you look great is all you need to complete your proverbial "I could die happy" moment.
Especially the blonde one.
Only the blonde one, actually. Forget the rest.
Ahhh.
Yes.
So the adventure of finding the perfect outfit is over, thank God, and now I can sleep easy knowing tomorrow will be one of the funnest nights of my life, in one of the greatest dresses any woman could ever own.
Life is beautiful.
Goodnight.
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