The Conference Clothes Catastrophe

I knew that I had a full night of packing ahead of me, yet I did not start until midnight. Unfortunately, it was then I discovered that I had purchased the wrong color gala dress. My sorority, as it often does, was doing this matchy thing and wanted everyone in black. So, I went to the closet to grab my long black evening gown only to find it missing. I then began a deep dive search at one in the morning that literally ripped my closet apart. I pulled out boxes that were neatly stored as quiet as I could so as not to wake my hubbie, only to have a stack of shoe boxes topple over at one point eliciting an irritated grunt. Eventually, I had a vague recollection of bagging it to take to the dry cleaners. Only it never left the trunk of my car. If I was correct, it is still there and was now a balled up mess of wrinkles beneath a pile of other balled up messes that I forgot to drop off two months ago. 

Switching gears, I dug out my old trusty dusty funeral dress. I must admit that it is not as bad as it sounds. It was actually really cute with a velour color and buttons all way down the front. The problem was that it was tainted with bad memories as I have worn it to the last five funerals that I attended. However desperation trumps bad juju. All I needed to do was find some rhinestone, gold, or silver shoes. 

I immediately attacked my special shoe collection and began rummaging and tearing apart the once neatly organized storage box of once in a blue moon – rarely used if ever – (some never) overpriced gems. By the time I was done, every shoe that had the least bit of gild or shine lay strewn about me. Because I rarely – if ever – had the opportunity to be adorned in such beauty, I had to take them all out. I couldn’t even remember what was in the box and may or may not have discovered that I bought the same shoe twice. 

So it’s now after two A.M and my husband is sawing logs pretty good. I used my phone’s flashlight to navigate the room and try them all on together with my funeral garb to see which shoe would finally have the chance to see the light of day. I slipped the dress over my head and proceeded to button it up. And stopped, or rather was forced to stop. I did not need the mirror to see that those buttons absolutely would not ever make it across the chasm of my belly to reach the other side. What in the world? When did this happen? I swear I just wore it five months ago.  Am I bloated? Was it something I ate? How does this happen overnight?” I quietly lamented to the god of girth. 

I swear I have not increased my intake of food. I eat the same amount and actually am drinking less. I stood there in the dim flashlight lit room staring at what clearly now looked like a 4 or 5 month pregnancy halting the buttoning process.I was so distraught. Life is not fair. I just know that menopause and maybe the fructose in that glass of wine did this to me. 

I disappeared back into my closet and began quietly and sullenly digging around again. This time I checked the semi-formal knee length flocks and hoped that society would not secretly admonish me for a perceived lack of knowledge of formal vs semi-formal while smiling at me in the face and blowing air kisses. As it turns out, none of them fit either. I know I had been straggling that invisible size line where you can still wear your old clothes,  but in the store you were forced to go up. It seems I have crossed that line. 

Eventually, I did find one that would suffice, thank goodness. It had a looser skirt and was styled with the most wonderful adornment. It had a peplum waist that could easily disguise that abomination of a belly. 

I am going to have to go shopping after this conference. And I have a feeling a preponderance of peplum style skirts and blouses will be dominating my closet in the unforeseen future… And a regular workout routine with be dominating my time.