Seeking acceptance…why do I care?

I do not buy fancy clothes, not even on sale.
By ‘fancy’ I mean clothes that you would wear to a typical desk job.
Or dressier.
I hardly even buy myself new non-fancy clothes (sweats, jeans, t’s) for a couple of reasons.
My size keeps changing.
It would probably require dry cleaning or ironing, both of which I am allergic.
It would be covered in drool, milk, or marker in under 60 seconds.
It would probably make me sweat more than I already do.
It would probably be constricting and uncomfy.
I would probably need new shoes.
New shoes would mean a new purse.
I rarely leave the house and when I do it is with all my children in tow which means I’m going to look like a sleep deprived stark raving mad lunatic so I might as well be comfortable right?
But then days like last Sunday come along.
There was a company picnic. All the other wives would be there in their fancy duds.  They will have gotten their mani-pedis and be sporting the latest sandal trends.
(Have  I mentioned that I can’t wear sandals because they don’t make them for short fat women with Flintstone feet? mmm.. yea…)
Their hair will be finely styled with no frizz.
Their clothes will be ironed and buttoned properly.
Their children will stand in line perfectly like a scene from the Sound of Music and all be clean, ironed and matchy matchy.
Trying to prepare for this picnic was overwhelming.  My closet was filled with clothes as old as my marriage yet I had to somehow find a way to look appropriately nice.  Not because I cared what they thought of me.  I cared what they thought of my husband.  I wanted to look nice for him.
I want to thank all of my twitter buddies for sending hugs and support that morning while I tweeted my tears out over what to wear.  I did eventually find a clean shirt.  I attempted to iron an old jumper-style dress that would allow me to nurse Peanut.  I half way blow dried my hair and then figured the humidity would only destroy my efforts and gave up.
I was clean, semi ironed, mostly dried, my shoes were white (it IS before Labor Day ya’ll), my baby was decked out, and my husband looked handsome.  This would have to suffice and it did.
We spoke with three people.  His boss. His boss’ boss. Some big wig… and we left.  Hubby’s social anxiety issues kicked in and we snuck out past the bounce house and went for a margarita.  He made his appearance.  I showed off the baby.  We came, we saw, we got drinks.
I’m not sure why I got all worked up in the first place.

3 thoughts on “Seeking acceptance…why do I care?

  1. aplaceforthoughts says:

    Oh! Those events are stressful! Hugs! For many of the reasons you mentioned that is just why my closet holds a pair of black pants and a black sweater. Glad the event is over and that a margarita was involved at the end! 🙂

  2. Karyn Climans says:

    You’re right … why do we put so much pressure on ourselves over these events? I get anxious whenever I’m hosting a dinner party. It’s not that I’m not a good cook but I hate cooking “fancy” meals. I prefer the casual crock pots of chili etc and I know I can’t serve that at a “formal” dinner party.
    Needless to say, I breathe a sigh of relief when they’re over.
    Glad you survived the office party.
    Thanks for visiting my blog site and leaving a comment!

  3. TaderDoodles says:

    Thanks for the support ladies!
    You might think I would stop acting like this but sure enough the next weekend when we had plans to see some friends I did the same thing all over again… cried about being fluffy, and post partum, and needing a hair cut and and and wah wah wah…
    Not that any of our friends cared what I looked like…

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