Friday, September 23, 2011

I dress funny.  Husband even gave me a pile of money when we got to NYC and told me it was mine to spend on whatever I wanted.  It mostly went to food and souvenirs for the kids.  And a plain grey tee and a bracelet for me.  I saw tons of neat fancy clothes, but I had to admit to myself that fashion-wise, I’m a die hard pragmatist.  I have to wear what I feel purty in, but also what can be pulled on without exposing myself, and must accept that it will also be used as a Kleenex and may meet a premature end when a loving toddler covered in chocolate and mud decides to charge me.

But it goes deeper than that.

I LOVE clothes.  I e-window shop constantly.  I dream about outfits - literally.  I’d dress up every day if I could.  But I can’t.  I wear tee shirts and jeans almost everyday because of that pragmatism thing, but there’s something else I’m starting to realize about myself.

I performed a lot as a kid and teen.  Oh, and during those 7 years I spent pursuing multiple performance degrees.  Recitals, competitions and concerts - each with it’s own level of dressiness.  Sometimes I played well. Sometimes I bombed.  Heck, once I lost my place and just walked off stage.  And when I bombed, I’d think about how much time I’d spent primping, and how much time I’d spent actually practicing and preparing.  I always came to the sick conclusion that I’d much rather have looked less fancy and sounded better.  I WANT to be pretty, but I also want to do awesome things.  And for some reason, those two don’t coincide for me.  Some people look put together and have fabulous children and homes.  When I look put together my kids look like swamp things and the house is a disaster.  When they look good, I look certifiable.  But I (grudgingly) think I’d prefer that over looking good myself with nothing to show for it.

It would still be nice to think I could pull of wearing heels and something flashy on a random Tuesday.  But I’d look in the mirror, and change into trademark bag lady chic every time.

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