This is one of the only pics I have and it’s all blurry. Sorry y’all.
I’m a pajamas type of girl. Lounge wear, yoga pants, and yes, even velour sweatsuits. If being comfortable is a fashion crime, then call the po-po, because if there’s an elastic waistband involved, you can go ahead and count me in. It hasn’t really been a life long goal of mine to see how much time I could log in loungewear as opposed to “real clothes” (pants with zippers and bras with actual underwire) but as a mom and a writer, nobody really expects me to get all done up.
The teachers in the carpool line only see me from the shoulders up, and once I get everyone to school I come home to do housework or clack away on my computer and no one is here to see me. Many of my mommy friends have similar wardrobes so it was eyeopening and exciting when last Saturday night, a good portion of Greenwood, MS showed up at the annual Cotton Ball decked out in their finest.
I ordered shoes off the internet after searching high and low for something to match my dress and crammed my too wide feet into the shoes like Cinderella’s ugly stepsister. They fit, but every time I pulled them off my feet I couldn’t help but hear Looney Tune sound effects in my head, “BOOOOOOOOING!” as my toes sprung back to their original shape and size. I put on a real bra, and make-up as my five-year-old whispered reverently, “Fancy.”
I squeezed into my Spanx, slipped into my dress and warned my husband, “Do not let me dance in this dress— at the very least remind me not to bend over.”
I barely recognized myself when I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and as I teetered through the reception hall on heels, I smiled and nodded politely as I passed a tall blonde in a stunning black dress. Three seconds later we both wheeled around and gaped at each other open mouthed.
“Robin?” my friend said.
Ignore all the crap on the floor. I sent my sister this pic because I was trying to decide what shoes to wear. We decided on the shoe on my left foot. I am only posting this pic because y’all asked me to and to prove that I didn’t wear yoga pants.
“Hey! I didn’t recognize you without your ah… um…” we laughed as we left the rest unfinished but smiled and nodded in silent understanding.
All night long I found myself smiling politely then gaping at my own friends.
“You look so good!” We squealed at each other.
It wasn’t easy but I managed to keep from bending over all night— as far as I know, no one saw my Spanx hanging out of the bottom of my dress. I ditched my heels in favor of ballet flats as soon as the band started playing and had a blast dancing. My husband had to drag me away so we could be home by the time we had given our sitter. And as the clock struck midnight I wiped the makeup from my face, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and slipped back into my yoga pants and sighed when I recognized myself in the mirror.