Wednesday, June 12, 2013


Yes.  Another entry about clothes.

So on monday, before I became a plaguerat, I went to the second hand store in the area with my Supergal and we decided to see if we could find some fetching new tops for me.  She was also on the lookout for neat stuff for her, so it was a well-primed day to find neat stuff for both of us.

It is, as she has taught me, a numbers game.  Fortunately for me she's a powerhouse at fashion judgements and she all too often looked at something I had pulled out for the ol' thumbs up/thumbs down treatment and, shaking her head announced simply "no".  I have no such fashion programming, so basically I'm wired to dress like a fourth grade teacher from like the twenties.  Or a librarian from the sixties.  And not the young, sexy librarian you just thought of, either.  I'm still on the "if it fits, wear it" bus.  She's trying to put me on the "you must have a waistline in there somewhere" train.  She wants me on the train that forbids frumptasticness and encourages me to reach for that ever evasive golden ring of exposing my collarbone from time to time.

Egad she's a good sport for helping me.

But anyway, it's a numbers game.  The more you try on, the more likely you are to find a win.  AND the more likely  you are to find some hilariously bad fits too.  We went through several tops that would have been awesome had they not made me look like a tent, or like a woman in her fourteenth month of pregnancy,  or like an anthropomorphous sausage trying to sneak into a baptist church.  Those sausagey ones are the best, because they're all office-casual at first and then I try 'em on and then it's all "oh nuts I can't breathe" or "hey, where did that crease come from?" or "backfat is still sexy right?"  ...

WE get lots of laughs out of the bad fits.  Seriously, a few of those darling little tops were one big yawn away from changing that shop from a family friendly establishment to something you'd watch on HBO.  Buttons flying across the room, blinding little children, boobs sticking out all over the place....  nasty.

And we got lots of good fits too.  This, my friends, is ALWAYS a relief.  When I put it on I'm always unsure of how the public will react.  I mean, egad.  It fits?  but... does it look okay?  Because I seriously have zero idea.  Then I open the door and Supergal makes that "oh my lord she did it!" face and I can tell that this is something I'll have no problem wearing in front of my peers.  and we all go *phew*.  Sometimes even the stock-people throw in a surprised thumbs up....  and that's always nice.  like YAY!  I CAN be TAUGHT!

So we found two great new cowl neck tops and two sexy little dresses that I can wear to dinners and things. And like, 'out'.  For when we go 'out'.

Next on my list of things to do is to really get mean and nasty about losing some weight.  NOT a ton, mind you. Just about ten pounds.  The stuff that a body can lose easily when said body starts giving a damn about what's going into that body.   Ten pounds.  That means walkies on the ol' treadmill and weekends out in the park.  I'm no runner, and "working out" is about as horrifying to me as an anal probe....  but if I have to do one to avoid the other (which I try to tell myself sometimes) then so shall it be.

Wish me luck.

As soon as I rid myself of this nasty cold, so that I can breathe again without going into cardiac arrest, I'll be on the mend and strutting around like I own the place.

Seriously though, wish me luck?

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