CAST YOUR VOTE!

Prom night, 1979

OK, so the oldest girl is going to the Homecoming Dance with a big group of pals. Is this a thing where you live? The girls all say, "Let's meet at the Homecoming dance!" instead of waiting around for some guy to get up the nerve to ask . So the guys don't bother asking, because the girls all have plans to go with their girl friends. Sometimes the boys actually go to the dance and meet up with the girls, but sometimes they don't. This doesn't seem to bother the girls at all.

Well -- we went dress shopping this weekend, and it was fun, if traumatic. I'll tell you what -- gone are the days of the Gunne Sax and ballet slippers of our (or at least my) youth. My mom made the prom dress of my dreams from a Gunne Sax pattern; this one was for my sister's beautiful prom dress. They don't sell pinafores and smocked jumpers in my girl's size, unfortunately. If they did, she would eat glass rather than wear one . . . . It makes me sad but in a good way.

We narrowed the choices down from eleventy-two to six, and now we have some serious decisions to make. And here is where my girl and I need your help! Check out the finalists that my girl with the sophisticated taste chose and cast your vote for the perfect Homecoming dress. Here are the choices (in the order she tried them on at the mall -- along with several hundred other teen-aged beauty queens):

Number 1: the simplicity of black and white (this year's theme) plus it's strapless which will make her father berserk -- so that's good.

Number 2: She looked great in this color, but it had a tulle underskirt = itchy. Is the beauty worth the pain? I think we all know the answer.

Number 3: Very subtle shimmer in the fabric of this stunning dress made it catch the eye of everyone in the dressing room. Again with the strapless -- and is it a little short for a fifteen-year-old? A dilemma.

Number 4: Lovely, sophisticated dress -- with the vague worry that the flowy white scarfy thing will get dunked into the dip.

Number 5: A non-starter. She came out of the dressing room and said, "Michelle Obama would look great in this dress." She decreed that it's too old for her -- in a mom way, which is bad (sorry moms, including Mrs. Obama!).

Number 6: You can't see because of the sketchy photograph (sorry!) but this dress had very pretty vertical sequin stripes.

Number 7: Very sassy and fun, but uh-oh! Tulle netting: again with the itchy!

OK! Cast your votes and we'll see what we come up with! Thanks for the help -- we really need some decision-making mojo!

Footwear Fashion Makeover

Last February I found these gorgeous boots, and I bought them immediately because I am a member of Bossy's Poverty Party, and thus I am very frugal. That very day, because God apparently loves the frugal, I fell down the stairs and got another style of boot:

I got to wear this bad boy for, oh, about twelve weeks and three and one fourth days, if I had to give you a rough estimate. The time just flew by! My doctor also gave me the excellent news that I have a genetic blah-blah, which causes the bones in my blah to blah-blah: to sum up I am a foot mutant, and will probably break my foot again which will require surgery, and by the way, about wearing all those glamour shoes in my closet? Not so much. I paraphrase.

Not that I have much opportunity for glamour shoes, but it's nice to dream, and there has never been a day so bad that a kicky little pair of red pumps didn't make it seem just a small bit brighter. I wear these while I'm gardening.

Well, last week I defied the medical skeptics and (dramatic pause) wore the new boots! So far I have lived through the ordeal. The praise for my footwear was epic at the middle school back-to-school night, let me tell you. [Like my oldest girl's toes?]

I just love these boots!

A mystery . . . .

I really don't understand this . . . .

These mums were purchased together.

They live ten feet away from each other, in the same garden home -- same shade, same sun, same rainfall, same cat peeing near them.


They have been cared for identically, where cared for equals ignored and forgotten.

Explanation?? Anyone??

tangent: As I've said, I find mums to be snooty -- the perky cheerleaders of the flower world, just because they are the preferred Homecoming corsage choice. Bitches.

Silly Haiku Wednesday

I can really go to town on Jenn's theme this week: CHAOS! Have mercy, people -- she's singing my song!

What looks like chaos

to you makes me feel as though
something's getting done.

Chaos theory: math,
physics, and randomness: the
butterfly effect!

I thrive on chaos.

I really do -- it's just the
laundry that kills me.

How much glamour can you take?

On Sunday, my oldest girl and I had the most fun, because we hosted a make-up party! My friend Barbara, who is a Mary Kay consultant, came over and showed us all the groovy products that will make our skin healthy and beautiful, and the girls and moms did make-overs, and critiqued each other's blush, and it was awesome!

Barbara is hilarious and only has sons, so she was giddy with joy to be able to play make-up with real live girls. Look how cute she is in her Mary Kay blazer.

We ate too much food, and I show the veggie tray here to trick you into thinking that I didn't serve chips or cookies or soda -- I would never serve crappy food like that . . . .

Mascara is v-e-r-y tricky when you have a broken wrist, but my oldest girls has mad skills.

Who is she texting?!

Check out the cute little Barbie mirrors that we got to use during our glamour party. They're flippy, and you also get a tray to hold the samples of moisturizer and exfoliant and cleanser. They made me happy and I don't know why.

So here I am at the end of the glamour-fest. This, people, is as good as it gets. Pay no attention to the Christmas decorations in the corner.

Snapshot: three goofballs

The tall boy and two of his best pals bonded at church yesterday. Coleen's tall boy rocks the pink glamour hat, don't you think?!

I could be a cougar . . . .

Let's be honest -- there are aspects of Demi Moore's life is an aspect of Demi Moore's life that has great appeal. Not the twittering -- I'm not feeling the twitter love, although I should never say never. But the fabulous body, the smokin' boy-toy: this doesn't appear to suck. So, yeah -- I could be a cougar.

What stands in my way (other than my vague moral misgivings, the small detail of an age-appropriate husband, and the non-existence of any sort of line forming at my door) is the thought of how much work it would be. The whole idea wears me out. I just don't have the energy, boys.

And there is a danger that instead of this . . .


. . . my experience would be this: