So, here's how the edited version of this story goes. For the first time, we are going to attend Portland's Red Dress Party on April 17. It's an annual fundraiser for HIV/AIDS -- and everyone attending wears a red dress. Yep, even the boys. Especially the boys. So, we're going.
Yesterday, we just happened to be in the Nordstrom Rack. And, lo and behold, there it was. The coup de gras. A red dress on the clearance rack in the women's section....a section which I've never been in before. A perfectly acceptable, sexy, sassy and slinky red dress. Something that would make me feel more feminine. Something to help me embrace my inner femininity.
I picked it up, swirled it around, and quickly noted the size 6. "Size 6! I wouldn't be caught dead in a size 6!," I exclaimed. "I'll have to take it in a few notches," I continued. Only a few innocent bystanders were harmed during this encounter, I swear.
So, I get it home and slip into it. Well, not so much "slip" into it as wrestle the sausage into the casing. I tried it over the head. And then I tried to step into it. I mean, how in the world would I know how to get into a dress. And then, Pop! Goes the Weasel. It fell into place. My nipples perky and showing. I think I need pasties. And my little Buddha belly gently protruding. And then, the sad revelation that Daddy needs a size 8....or 10.