Monday, June 19, 2006

M's favorite phrase of mine: I don't have anything to wear!

What to wear to a funeral?

Really, in the case of women, anyway, it's an age-old question that is considered and reconsidered every time someone dies, or gets married, or what have you. Men have it easy, as they throw on a suit, or dress pants and a tie, and bam, they are done. They can have just one suit and it'll last forever and they can wear it over and over and no one thinks anything of it.

But women...not so much.

Wait, I recant that statement to make a modification:

But women who don't wear dresses...not so much.

Dress-wearing women have it pretty easy, too. They have a couple of dresses they can use for funerals and weddings, and more casual ones for showers and reunions.

Pants-wearing women, such as myself, have the added burden of finding a blouse. A blouse can make or break an outfit. It can be dressy or casual, and there is a fine line there. I have to mentally picture myself standing next to M while he's wearing a suit, and try to determine how my outfit measures up. He's a fine looking chap in a suit, I have to tell you. He's got that black hair that complements a sharp black suit, with an intense blue button-down with a gold tie. Put his sunglasses on and out. He's definitely a hottie. Sorry. I get distracted just thinking about my husband in a suit.

So why don't I just get some dresses, you ask? Well, see, there's the issue that I just don't have a dress-wearin' body. My torso is too short, and my wobbly bits are too...well...wobbly. So, unless I can find something that visually elongates my torso, it looks like my ta-tas are resting on my hips, and that, my friend, is just not pleasant.

This means that I stick with pants (which are also quite useful in situations where you're balancing a jiggly baby, a diaper bag, a purse, and a few toys, and when you drop something - hopefully not the baby - you have to unceremoniously squat down to pick it up without dropping something else). Sticking with pants brings me back to my original quandry of finding a blouse.

Don't get me wrong. I've got a few blouses I can wear. But they're old. And as any woman can confirm to all the men scratching their heads in bewilderment, asking, "So? It still looks okay," it's just not appropriate to wear something old. Men will wear shoes until the soles have disintigrated and their big toe is poking out. Women will not wear shoes that are "so last Tuesday."

So here I sit, at work, going through my closet in my head, flipping through the hangers: "Nope, nope, nope. Good Lord, I need to get rid of that hasn't fit in ages. Nope. Nope. Maybe, but probably not. Could I get by with sleeveless? Is that too festive for a funeral? Where is that cardigan set?"

And you know what, in the grand scheme of things, it just doesn't matter. As my Beano so eloquently put it, "Grandma doesn't care." And you know what? She's right.

Everyone who is reading this, please pray for my Daddy's family. His sister-in-law, Sharon, is undergoing surgery right now and the outcome isn't looking good. This family is going through an awful lot of pain and prayers would sure help.


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