Happy Friday my little whomp biscuits, how’s every little thing?
Me? I’m peachy except it JUST occurred to me that I have to drive across the country on Sunday and I don’t have a thing to wear to a place where it isn’t six thousand degrees outside with the notable exception of a lynx, a blonde mink and a pair of jeans. I’ve also got to magically conjure up an outfit for today that will take me from the wake of a really kick ass priest, to the Wales vs Ireland Rugby quarter finals at the expat bar, to a scorching midnight rock show at a place called Skinny’s Ballroom which I suspect is not technically a ballroom.
P to the S how much do I love that the Welsh sing “Bread of Heaven” at the rugby? Nothing quite like an 18th century Methodist hymn to get the fans all riled up. Truly, these are my people.
I’m also in the nerve-wracking position of picking out an outfit for when I finally meet Hot Latin Boy’s mother and man, that is one increasingly adhesive wicket. The last time I had to prepare to meet someone’s mother was in 2008 when Andre wanted to drag me to gay Paree to meet his terrifyingly chic and none-too-pleased maman, which –fun fact– is what made me crop my hair. It was bad enough I was American (vulgar) and Fat (triple vulgar), I couldn’t just go traipsing around the streets of La Rive Droite with hair that was anything less than painfully bon chic bon genre.
Now I need to come up with something that says “Please don’t hate the fat white girl who is corrupting you son, the treasure of your old age, with her iPhone and her sunscreen and her capitalist pigdog ways.”
I think it might require a petticoat.
Anyhoodle, for the weekend I’d like to know all about the toughest outfit you’ve had to select. No fair saying your wedding gown, but if it’s true it’s true. Put it in the comments and tell me how it went!
That’s easy – the outfit for my mother’s funeral last June. Yes, I know how to dress for a funeral and have the appropriate garments…if it’s around here. In Colorado. Or California. Where it’s warm but not 95 degrees and 95% humidity – which was the predicted weather for the day of. (It turned out to be 98/98, but who’s counting?) And I had approximately one day in which to do it.
I ended up with new black dress pants (old ones were not wearable, I already had appropriate broken in shoes for pants) and a plum tank under a black lace short sleeved jacket that I’d bought earlier in the season not knowing exactly where I was going to wear it but I’d recognized that it was a nice piece that would come in useful. I had no idea how useful it would be. I was dressed extremely appropriately and I didn’t die from the heat/humidity, but I just look back and think “man, I pulled a rabbit out of that hat”.
The most surprising part: my brother, of all people, complimented me on my shoes.
Comment by TropicalChrome — October 7, 2011 @ 4:45 pm
meeting my beloved stepson’s mother – and still working on it.
PS In my experience, for Latin mothers, flat shoes say ‘I am a respectable and decent girl’ but ‘Latin’ covers so many varied cultures, your mileage may vary.
I’m sure you will do brilliantly
Comment by Thea — October 7, 2011 @ 10:33 pm
@Thea: flat…shoes? Is that a thing?
Comment by Miss Plumcake — October 7, 2011 @ 11:24 pm
I’m coming up to a series of ‘What Not To Wear’ days over Christmas, where I meet The Man’s family. Fortunately, I’ve just inherited a sewing machine, and I have three more months!
Comment by Jelly — October 8, 2011 @ 12:24 am
Mine are a tie:
Outfit one was a bridesmaid’s dress for my BFF’s shotgun wedding. She called me up one day, said, “Hey, [Husband] and I are getting married in two weeks, in El Paso. Yes, I know it’s August. You’re the bridesmaid. Wear blue.” I was living in Boston at the time, and I nearly killed myself 1) looking for a dress and 2) sewing one myself when it became clear that the only things available were polyester and would give me heat stroke.
Outfit two was for my grandfather’s funeral – I was one year back into being at college, so all my nice clothes were packed into deep storage, and I was wearing jeans and sweater vests and similarly casual/colorful attire. When I made it back home with the few pieces of black clothing I had, it was painfully clear that none of it went together – the blacks were all a little bit different, and it was horrible. So my mother, my sister and I went shopping, and my sister kept telling me that the things that I was trying on were not as flattering as they could be. Finally my mother and I had to point out to her that the goal was not to pick up a date, but to be appropriately demure and sad at the wake and funeral, and that I didn’t care if the top made me look like a sad Quaker.
Comment by Scarlett — October 8, 2011 @ 12:41 am
Trying to put together an outfit, any outfit, for that level of professional dress that’s between polos and khakis and a suit. My dresses look too dress-y, the button-down tailored shirts that looked good in the store suddenly turn ugly and boxy, or too big and sloppy, the necklines on the knits are too high or too low, the jewelry is too much or too little, and then I give up and wear a suit because I’d rather be overdressed than underdressed for a meeting. And a suit always looks like a suit.
I’ve decided to seek professional help. If after ten years of trying, I still can’t dress my damn self for work, I’m obviously Doing It Wrong and need assistance.
Comment by TeleriB — October 8, 2011 @ 12:46 am
Pfft, the wedding gown was easy. I knew precisely what I wanted and how to get it… and how to make all that lace, yum.
Hard was discovering I had to go to a friend’s father’s funeral and realizing the most somber thing in my closet was dark raisin colored (which was fine) skirt and blouse festooned with shisha mirrors (which was NOT fine). Mr. Twistie and I were playing roulette with the utility bills at the time, so going out and getting something else was simply not an option, and nobody around me wore the same size and was as short as I am, so borrowing wasn’t going to work, either.
Friends, there are few things more embarrassing than sparkling at someone’s funeral, particularly when you only knew one member of the family personally. I still cringe. And while I don’t wear black, I always make certain I’ve got something simple in a somber shade of plum, navy blue, or very dark brown to wear in a pinch.
Comment by Twistie — October 8, 2011 @ 11:48 am
I have a Latin smother-in-law. When dating cute half-Spanish boy, I first tried demure. Kind of got walked over. Then I went glamorous. Heels (I am tall, she is short), ravishing jewelery, and fab dresses. Sort-of, fancy dinner party. This instilled respect. I had style, knew how to shop etc—she became much more solicitious.
Comment by Debs — October 8, 2011 @ 1:46 pm
My father’s funeral three years ago. I was a few months pregnant, so nothing I had that was remotely appropriate fit me anymore. Trying to shop while grieving and experiencing morning (all day!) sickness was horrid. And by the way, if plus-size shopping isn’t pain enough at times, maternity plus size shopping was much worse. Oh the polyester! I managed to find a black faux-wrapish dress, polyester, of course. Lovely in the heat of a Chicago July.
Comment by maryann — October 8, 2011 @ 3:04 pm
A quinceanera; I was also dating Cute Latin boy at the time. It was about a year after college, and we’de been dating for a while. His niece’s quinceanera; and I’d never before met the family. Or heard of a quinceanera. Epic shopping trip. I ended up with a black sheath dress and really cute suede heels; but I was horribly nervous.
I still have the shoes but have long since moved on from the guy!
Comment by barbara — October 8, 2011 @ 5:09 pm
@Plumcake,
Latin culture is so vast – from Agentine and Brazilian urban glam to more conservative cultures, and I’m not sure where your hot Latin boy is from from so it’s hard to speak in absolutes.
I can tell you, when I was dating an upper middle class university educated Mexican guy, he asked me to wear low heels so his mother would know I was a ‘good girl’.
I went with a tailored linen suit and a reasonable amount of pearls and low heels and they thought I was pretty adorable.
I did the same with my British mother-in-law. Years as a fundraiser taught me to err on the side of conservative and tailored when I’m first meeting people. The leopard print comes out later.
I’m sure they will adore you – what’s not to adore? :-)
Comment by Thea — October 9, 2011 @ 2:53 pm
Every single gown for every single damn Navy Day Ball I ever went to.
Y’see, I always went solo, because invariably hubbie would be deployed during said annual occasion (and when he wasn’t deployed during said annual occasion we didn’t go at all), and so I was Showing the Flag and being Proud Navy Wife in front of the Command. Whatever I chose had to make me look good enough that hubbie heard about his slammin’ wife when he got back from wherever, but at the same time not scream prom/Frederick’s/David’s Bridal/Spice Channel upon being presented to senior members of the Command and the occasional stray visiting admiral.
The funny part is that the last dress ended up becoming the dress for my wedding to my second husband; it was black velvet and the new guy and I ran off to an Elvis-themed Vegas chapel, so…
Comment by Cathouse Blues — October 10, 2011 @ 6:58 pm