As I am suffering from random.org post traumatic rage syndrome, and having just survived the Year 1/2 School Disco tonight, I was delighted and thankful to find this little beauty waiting for me in cyberspace.
I have spoken before of the evil and hysterical MummyDiaries blog, whose writer has a way of always bringing her privates into every post. She is a sassy weekend waitress on leave from the media biz while raising a baby and a toddler. No wonder she drinks! I love her, and I know you will too. Check her out here then head over to MummyDiaries for more laughs. BYO Depends Pads.
MUMMYDIARIES GUEST POST
This afternoon I decided it was high time I cleaned out my wardrobe.
If you are imagining some kind of romantic Carrie Bradshaw moment where I open up my walk-in closet and sigh as the sequins on my Manolo Blahnik's twinkle, their gleaming shine bouncing off the crisp white fabric of my vintage Chanel suit..forget it sista. I'm just not that kinda gal.
Instead imagine me, pawing through 6 drawers of clothes all of which appear to be either:
a) Tracksuits - NOT Juicy Couture.
b) Floral dresses
c) Big floaty floral tops with sequin embellishments that look as if they've jumped off the pages of a "Big and Bold" clothing catalogue. And incidentally..why are big-gal clothing stores always called things like "Bold Personality"? Like as in you're fat so you must also have a huge mouth and be really, really loud? Maybe all the big-gals out there are sick of being compared to Rosie O'Donnell and Kathy Bates and just want to be like "Big and Shy" or "Big and Bookworm"
d) Skivvies - A big fat "WHAT WAS I THINKING? I am neither a member of an orchestra nor have I been the props girl for my local community theatre production of "Oklahoma", so why the skivvies LOSER?
ANYWAY..I realised that it was completely weird for a 30 year old woman that does not frequent the local Baptist church every Sunday for an intensive session of happy-clapping to own so many floral dresses. So they are GONE.
Not only are they daggy, but they all are made of non-breathable fabric that results in my underarms smelling like a cabbie at the end of a long summer's day shift. I resisted the urge to type "indian" before cabbie because it would be totally racist and besides, I've come to the conclusion that all cabbies, stink regardless of race.
Cabbie BO sees no race, color or creed apparently.
ANYWAY..so as I waded my way through 5 year's worth of ridiculous clothing choices, I decided that if the garment didn't make me feel sexy, I needed to banish it from my life forever. No more "mumsy" fashion for me.
Dark green trackies with stripes down the sides - GONE
Grey quarter length trackies that make my little lady look like a massive, meaty beaver - GONE
I am not being dramatic, honest. Try being me, at the gym doing biceps curls, concentrating on my form, only to look down at my crotch mortified to find that grey trackies seem to make my pachanga look ten times the size. I mean, I know the mags say never to wear horizontal stripes but where is the "what not to wear" guide for your vagina? Nobody, I repeat nobody wants to be displaying a fat beaver at the gym. It's just plain distracting.
Grey trackies with hole near the crotch - GONE. Much to Scott's disappointment.
Maternity clothes..hmm they are staying. Just in case I resist the urge to stab myself in the ovaries and one day produce another cherub faced, poo smearing, stay-up-all-night-and-drive-me-crazy baby. Or on the off chance that I get terribly drunk and forget the contraception.
The latter of course is more likely.
