This is so not a fashion blog. Anyone that knows me would just laugh out loud at the very notion. My idea of high fashion is a plain white t-shirt and a pair of comfy velour yoga pants.
However these shoes are singing their siren song to me – I lust over these shoes. Me! Not a shoe person. I buy a brand spanking new pair of Keds each May and call it a year. Shoe shopping done. I wear flip-flops ten months out of the year (and honestly, I couldn’t stomach spending that much on a pair of shoes).
It doesn’t mean I don’t wish I was more fashionable. I don’t have a very fashionable body type though. I’m a little too late for that – I’m more the Rubenesque era (which is LONG over due for a comeback, if you ask me). I’m lucky in that I’m a good height (5’7" – not too short, not too tall) and I have long legs. I also have a bustline like a chicken. Not so good for fashion.
I had a dream last night that I was late for school (standard issue anxiety dream – late for class – when you haven’t actually BEEN in class for, oh, 20 years or so). I was in the bathroom, trying to get ready when I really noticed my reflection and I had hair exactly like Amy Winehouse (if you don’t know who she is Google her – she has a bee-hive hairdo). However I also had a very lithe, slender figure like Amy so I was able to overlook the hair disaster and my impending mid-term which I had not studied for.
Long-time readers of my blog remember that disastrous day at the doctor’s office – well since then I’ve lost 12 lbs. Not bad. Not great. Not the amount I need to lose. I need to lose five more pounds. Nine times.
My sister Trish** works at a local hospital. She joined a group of people at work that each ponied up $50 for a 12 -week diet program. I’m not entirely sure of the details – it sounded like each person would come up with their own diet plan and the end of the 12 weeks whomever had lost the largest percent of weight would win the pot. Twenty people signed up so the ‘loser’ will get $1000. Not bad. There will be one person that will be in charge of confidential weigh-ins and a photo will be taken at the beginning and end. Trish has decided that she is going on the South Beach diet. I thought it was a splendid idea and was all set to start with her today – as a show of solidarity – only I forgot when I woke up and ate two pieces of buttered toast, a piece of See’s candy and, whatthehell, a KrispyKreme donut – all by 11:00am. I’m not sure, but I am pretty certain that KrispyKreme donuts are not part of the South Beach diet induction period.
Tomorrow is another day.
And what the heck – shoes ALWAYS fit.
**Edited to add – this is the same sister that back in our early 20’s we came up with a grand, dieting plan. We decided that instead of swilling down countless calories in beer on the weekend we would make *one* decandently rich cocktail of Kahlua and cream and slowly sip it the entire evening. Figuring that due to the richness we could make that one drink last the entire evening – thus saving calories. The morning after we launched this grand scheme we woke up to one empty Kahlua bottle, two missing quarts of cream and little sticky rings around our mouths (not to mention screaming headaches). I don’t think the Mayo clinic is going to be hitting us up for our thoughts on dieting any time soon.
