I struggle to understand why I can’t just wear my jersey pants and fluffy flats to dinner.
Too often going out for dinner turns into a fashion faux pas. I’m looking for something pretty, but sophisticated, and of course, something with a bit of give in the midriff. The reality is that after I’ve gorged myself on my dinner and several glasses of wine, holding my tummy in isn’t going to be achievable nor consistent.
It’s a 1950’s black pencil dress with some leopard pumps.
I start out looking great, by the time I’ve had my main course I can only remember to hold my tummy flat on the way to the bathroom but not on the way back. I’m alternating between looking great and looking frumpy. I’m confusing people.
My friends decide to go to the local bar now that the restaurant is closing. It sounds like a great idea.
I’ve completely forgotten that my dress has a long slit up the back thats now riding up quite high to compensate for my pot belly out front (that I couldn’t possibly hold in now).
I arrive at the bar feeling the confidence of my last drink but look like the martini, three glasses of wine and two courses that I’ve consumed.
My clumsiness is incompatible with the slit in my dress. Someone should really tell me not to bend over. And the phrase, dance like no ones watching, didn’t originate from this teetering shuffle – because let’s hope they’re not watching.
The next morning its the jersey pants and fluffy flats that make me feel like me again. That, and the alka seltzer.
image: Roy Lichtenstein, Alka Seltzer (1966)