The weather’s been pretty unpredictable around here lately. The weatherman—aka my husband, checking the weather app on his phone—tells me each day that it’s supposed to be “around 60—and that’s the high,” reminding me to dress appropriately because I always think that everything’s capri weather and then I get to work and my calves are a little bit cold. It’s hard being me, you know?
I finally took his advice last week and wore actual pants that covered my entire leg. (Those extra five inches of fabric are just so cumbersome. Ugh) Apparently a heat wave came rolling in that day, and I was left experiencing premature hot flashes in my office, cursing my husband and the inventor of full-length pants.
Yesterday, I had it all figured out. I wasn’t listening to my husband or his stupid weather app anymore because I didn’t believe them. So I threw on my favorite pair of “dressy casual” capris, a short-sleeved shirt, and a brand new lightweight cardigan that could easily be taken off in the event that my husband had, once again, been a goddamned liar about the weather.
I love that cardigan. I bought it at the end of the season last year, and I’d just been waiting for the perfect opportunity to wear it. It’s one of those trendy ones that are a little bit longer in the front and sort of flowy while at the same time being really slimming.
It’s the kind that you’d pair with a great set of skinny jeans—if you were in the habit of wearing skinny jeans. As it is, I kind of avoid them because they cut right into the flesh, dividing my midsection into the multiple stomachs of a cow. (I do have a pair of $12 denim jeggings from Wal-Mart with an expandable waistline…do those count?) Anyway, if I had a great-fitting pair of dark-washed skinny jeans and some long boots, this would be the perfect sweater for the outfit.
Instead, I threw it over my little t-shirt and capri combo and added a really cute pair of ballet flats, feeling great about myself. I felt so spiffy, you guys, that after I pulled it on, I slapped a hand on my hip, thrust that sucker out, and shot my own reflection a wink in the bathroom mirror.
I’m pretty sure I even blew myself a little kiss before I turned to shut off the bathroom light and walk out the door.
I was feeling good.
When I walked into the living room, where my boys were sitting on the couch trying to fit in an episode of Wild Kratts before we had to leave for school, my 4-year-old jumped up and ran to me. He was dressed in his Halloween costume because his class had their party yesterday, and all week long he’d been asking the rest of us what we were going to dress up as—because in the mind of a 4-year-old, surely if he and his class were dressing up on Thursday, then the rest of the world would be donning costumes that day, too, right?
“Ooooh,” he breathed, a huge smile on his face as he stared up at me in awe, clearly impressed. He smoothed the fabric of my sweater with his sweet little preschool hand, and I started doing that swishing back and forth thing, like, Hey, look at me, aren’t you glad you basically have a supermodel for a mom?
And then my 4-year-old, with innocent, wide eyes, said, “You dressed up like an old lady for Halloween!”
Whatever, you guys. Despite any weather forecast that my wannabe meteorologist husband might have pulled out that morning, I wasn’t going to let my son rain on my parade. I wore that sweater to work, and I wore it proudly.
And anytime I got a compliment (which I did, I got like 4, I swear the sweater is really cute), I would turn to the giver, smile appreciatively while thanking her, and then say, “My 4-year-old says it’s an old lady sweater. I guess you have the taste of the blue-haireds, too.”
Misery loves company, that’s what I always say.
Happy Halloween, everyone!!!
For more of the reasons I hate Halloween, click here. As always, thanks for reading!