Fashion sense, or lack thereof.

I used to look cute sometimes. Emphasis on the sometimes! I know how to match things, and the like. These days, however, I seem to have settled into a horrific rut. There are dresses, and there are pajamas. Dresses can encompass everything from formal stuff with an actual zipper, that has to be actually used in order to put on the dress, and my daily uniform of moo-mooooooo. Yes, I know that's not how it is spelled, but remember, I love hyphens. Anything I can pull over my head qualifies. I wear them to work, around the house, to the beach, to the market. Most of my favorites dresses are actually beach cover ups, which, if I am being kind of honest, look like it. I am the woman wearing a sleeveless dress in January, with a sweater and leggings, because c'mon, who has time??? At this point, most of my moo-moos are looking a bit worse for wear. I finally trashed my purple cotton moo because it had grease spots and a black frosting stain. I cried. Then there are pajamas, heretofore referred to as things that are comfortable and in a varying stage of decay. They're comfy. Ripped. Stained. That's fine with me! My kids don't care, and typically neither do it. 

HOWEVER. And this is a gigantic HOWEVER. I am single.

Theoretically, I should have an outfit or two that isn't hideous. My mom bought me some gorgeous things at the beginning of the summer, and I wear them to work a lot. As in, I pair the shirts with some stretchy could-be-yoga-pants-but-maybe-fitted-real-pants and run out the door. I love them. 

But when faced the concept of, oh geez, I don't know- GOING ON A DATE- I freeze. I have jeans. They have tye dye on them (oops). So I have another pair of jeans. They make me look like a vienna sausage in search of some extra casing. Then there is the last pair of jeans- that fit fine, but hang off my non-existent ass in a pretty disturbing plumber-ish way (I have no ass, don't blame my comfy jeans)! NOW WHAT? I have cute shoes, of course, that I can't really wear (stupid effing plantar fasciitis) but will wear anyway, and I have GREAT mascara (who doesn't want eyelashes that leave a shadow?) and a pretty damn fine personality- and yet, NO. GOOD. JEANS. 

I think I need to live in that awesome jeans commercial where they measure the women and say things like "your size is radiant!", and every woman looks insane. 

Until then, unstained moo-moo for the win.