Hurray for Clothes or Clothes Don't Make the Woman but the Woman Makes the Clothes but not on a Sewing Machine

I have been at a posh resort all week with my husband.  While he is in meetings all day, I am eating peanut butter on bread, bananas, nectarines, carrot sticks and candy bars in my hotel room.  Also, I am not getting dressed, looking at the 500 emails in my inbox, organizing my photos from the past several years--who are these people and what are they doing??? reading Harry Potter 7 again, cat-napping, and writing blog posts and mediocre adolescent literature.  I am quite content to be left in this room by myself.  I don't get a lot of by-myself-time with 7 children.  I did venture out once to read by the pool.  The only problem was that I had to put on my swimming suit or else I'd look like a doofus and my legs looked like cottage cheese--texture-wise and color-wise.

I ventured out of my room again the next evening to go to a swanky dinner reception with my husband.  The only problem was that I had to get out of my pajamas at 5:00 p.m., comb my hair, put on make-up, shave my legs with my husbands electric razor, and brush my teeth and I didn't have anything swanky to wear.

Most everyone, except for the men, were in high-heels and cocktail dresses. I heard once that high-heels were invented by men so they could watch womens' behinds wiggle.  I cannot balance a checkbook much less myself on three inch spikes.

I was in a skirt I bought for $5.00 probably sometime in the last decade, a "respectable" looking shirt, and my Bible sandals, okay at least they were post Old Testament. How was I supposed to know I'd be invited to this thing?  Okay, honestly, I wouldn't have had anything to wear anyway.



(Me)





("Them")



I was feeling kind of conspicuous, but really enjoying the food after my week long forage of peanut butter, when Marsha was called to the podium during the business part of the reception.  She was dressed kind of like me only in pants.  She was wearing the same color as the commentator who jokingly commented that she was dressed better than Marsha.  Drinking tall glasses of wine makes you say things like this.  It also makes you feel warm and tingly and like you can yodel and belly-dance in public, or so I've heard. 



Here is what Marsha said to the commentator lady.  "You always look impecable, have the best fashion sense, and dress stunningly.  I on the other hand," she continued, "am always dressed."  This got a big laugh.  I wanted to high-five this lady and give out a friendly woot, woot, because I knew where she was coming from--mostly the pajama-bottom, t-shirt state-of-mind that I live in--but I didn't because my husband would have turned red. 

I like Marsha.  I like that she wears clothes.  I like that she's comfortable with who she is.  I like that she made me feel comfortable too.  So Marsha, thanks for making me delicious.