Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The middle of December brought the Man of the House's Company Christmas party.
Now, I wish I could say I was mature enough to grab something out of my closet that was acceptable, jump in the car and head off to the party without a second thought about my attire.
But, no, I cannot say that I am mature enough to do exactly that. There's just something in me that wants to shine on the night of The Company Christmas Party.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that every morning when the Man of the House leaves, I'm in rumpled pajamas, often mis-buttoned, one eye half-open, mind foggy, and hair at a rakishly non-symmetrical angle from trying to hide my head under the pillow. He, of course, leaves this vision and enters the world of women in Ann Taylor pantsuits, heels, and French manicures.
And yes, I know there's something I could do about this comparison, but I also have not evolved enough to shower, dress, and do my hair before the ungodly hour of 7:00 a.m., so let's not go there.
Simply put, when placed next to the women he works with . . . all at one time . . . all in one room . . . all in Christmas beauty, I would like to hold my own.
So, there you have it, the unvarnished truth. And this is why I found myself halfway through December with approximately 1 hour, limited funds, and the need to find myself something glorious for The Company Christmas Party.
Attire: Dressy Casual. For me, I wanted dressy . . . casual . . . glorious.
At such moments of need, T.J. Maxx has always been my go-to place, for all things quick, budget-friendly, and (hopefully!) glorious. I stacked my arms full of sheath dresses, usually a win for me. But no, too tight, too large, too frumpy, too sequined, too young, too plain, too . . . too . . . too . . .
Ack! Down to 15 minutes. Must find something. I turned reluctantly to "Tops," assuming I'd do the boring old blouse and dress pants thing. ::yawn::
And then, there it was. There they were. On the rack of medium tops, half had been pushed to the left side, half had been pushed to the right side. And there in between the two clumps, was the most beautiful, silvery-grey angora sweater. Soft ruffles fell down the front, open, scalloped lacework edged the bottom and sleeves.
And next to this feminine, soft beauty was a black chiffon tank with glossy black beading at the scooped neck. They were in my size; they stood alone, together; they were under my budget; they were waiting for me; they were mine.
Ooh, it was a sweet gift . . . a sweet, sweet gift.
And the next night, for one small Christmas-y moment, this stay-at-home, pajama-clad, sleepy-eyed mom held her own.
It was, in a word, glorious!