What "Getting Ready" Looks Like Now
Super cheers (Mickey)!!! My beautiful cousin Ashley is engaged! She is marrying a great guy (who also made our logo, shout out to Mike Krupsky, ya'll) and is having a big bash in Boston to celebrate. I’m finally not pregnant or in infant hell, so it’s time to P-A-R-T-Y. Night on the town! Alright, this should be easy. First task is to see what I can dig out of the old closet. Hmmm, let’s look. I see flannel, cardigans and sweatshirts. Okay, that’s alright. We’ve got some time here. (I’m talking to my fashion alter ego and judging by his closet, we’ll call my ego, Barry). But seriously, where did all my cool, feminine clothes go? You know the ones I wore when Tom and I were dating and I wanted him to think I was attractive? Those ones. Shit, I guess that was years ago. Okay, I’ll just keep looking in the closet, like I do in the fridge when I’m hungry and we need to go grocery shopping and I just keep opening those doors rather than get my shit together and go to the store because surely something will suddenly seem appealing to me if I keep repeating this action. Same idea. I do this for a week.
Then I call Ashley. “Oh I have this Elizabeth and James dress that will look so cute on you,” she reassures me. I’m sold. If you know Ashley, you know that you trust her suggestions. Styling expertise is an understatement. The catch is, she can’t get it to me until the day before the big event. No sweat. Whatever it is, I’m going to make it work because it has to work because Victoria’s Secret boyfriend style sweatpants are not going to cut it. If you thought there was no such thing as VS looking unsexy and non-erotic, you haven’t seen me in these pants.
Dress received. I try it on. So cute. I feel fancy in this expensive dress. On the morning of the party I try it on again, so I can figure out which shoes of my sister’s I can find in the pile of her unwanted things that didn’t make the cut for her semester abroad in Australia. No, it gets sadder. Okay, dress on again. Oh so cuuuu-oooh no my God. The arm holes are showing my…how did I not notice you could see an entire boob from the side?! Shit and no, a bra does not work with this dress and no, I cannot freeboob it status post two children. Ladies??! Fuck! Now what? Fuck it, I’m going to Marshalls, Tom. Sans kids. Oh, hello little black DVF dress! I can wear a bra with you and I will take those $40 on trend heels for the win! This is a big score. And you know I couldn’t have pulled this shit off had I visited this fashion oasis three weeks earlier.
Back home and Tom has told me to take all the time I want getting ready. What a guy. It will be like the old days when I put on the itunes and would be all optimistic and crap about what magic the night would hold for me. Late night Chinese food delivery that I drunk ordered on the cab ride home from the bar. That was usually all the magic those nights spitballed at me. But I digress, as usual. And now I will do my hair. Wait, how do I do my hair? It’s like the muscle memory is gone. I’ll just blow dry it? No, it needs something else. Yes, I’ll just YouTube search “quick hairstyle for going out tutorials”. Oh dear God. You loser. Did you actually just search that? Cue 13 year old explaining how to curl my hair with that "beachy Victoria’s Secret model look". This is some sort of rock bottom for me, but I press on and continue watching. “Tease and hairspray the section of hair at your crown”. Oh she’s got a comb there. Do I need a comb or can I figure out how to do this with the round barrel brush I’ve been “using” for two years? Nope, I definitely need a comb if I want to avoid this tangled hairsprayed rat’s nest I almost just created.
And there it is: Vivi’s comb. I am now watching a 13 year old teach me how to do my grownup 33 year old hair whilst using my 2 year old’s pepto bismol pink Minnie Mouse comb.
Did I mention something about rock bottom above? No, no, no, no, no. Here we are now at rock bottom. Me and Barry. I imagine this is how all us glam moms are primping tonight! I’m sure their kids are barging in at 45 second intervals, pulling all of the tampons out of the box and spreading them around like tampon flower girls.
Maybe they’re trying to "curl hair away from the face" while also trying to keep their 1 year old from giving himself a swirly in the toilet too. I can’t say it's been a huge fail though because my hair looks gooood. Dress on, shoes on, jacket on. Nope, jacket off now that you notice you forgot to shave your legs. Is that surprising anyone right now? Okay deed is done and ready to go. Oh cute, Billy wants another hug goodbye and ohhh thanks buddy for smearing some of that neon green avocado in my freshly teased hair. I am trying to do the impossible of leaving the house without a trace of kid on me. I almost make it. Not quite, not quite. Alright, wipe most of it out and rub the rest in and now I’m ready to partaaaaaaay. And that is what getting ready looks like these days. My, how far I have fallen. Cheers, muthafuckers!