Hate the hair. Hate the dress. Love the dog. Guess which one I’m keeping?!


This hasn’t been my finest day. Tears and pity. I’ll confess, I’m struggling a bit. It’s all vanity and it’s all pointless, in terms of the bigger things in my life like my health and how to pay the mortgage —miniscule  when put on the earthquake and floods and war scale. But there are days when perspective cannot be found. Where you weep in your beer wishing things just weren’t so.

The thing is, I’ve lost nearly 12lbs since December. That’s nothing to brag about—except that it’s more weight than I’ve ever managed to get off at one time (unless you count that 6 month period when my thyroid went haywire and bumped up my resting heart-rate to 140). And while I have at least 10lbs more to go (ideally 15, but I’m a pragmatist about these things) my weight loss has S  L  O  W  E  D to an nearly imperceptible pace. It’s not weight gain, but a half pound in 6 weeks is hardly worth counting.

In truth, I was feeling pretty good about it, despite the pace—because I knew when I started that it would probably take me 18 months to lose the 25-30 lbs I wanted (needed!) to shed. Slow and steady. Seemed like a good plan.

However, that plan did not foresee IZ’s youngest niece getting engaged. And now, the hunt is on for a suitable dress for a late summer garden wedding. You know, one that isn’t too sleazy, won’t upstage the bride (not going to happen!), and something that doesn’t leave the distant relatives wondering, “Did you see that woman in that hideous dress? What was she thinking?”  You know, a dress that’s lovely and flattering and doesn’t draw attention in any way. Something I can feel good in, without feeling like anyone is looking my direction.

Because it’s not about me. I’m  under no delusions. However, after 21 years I know IZ’s family. And they’re a bit nutty when it comes to pictures! They like photos of every last relative in every last combination. I know, because I have a whole album full of such pictures! And it’s poor form to say, “I’m too (fill in the blank) to be in the photo.” No, instead, you haul your guaze swathed form in front of the camera and try to angle yourself next to your tall husband in such a way that you disappear into the background.

It never works. It’s hard to disappear when you’re my size.

So, this week I brought home a potential dress. From Goodwill. I paid $8.99.  I have no choice. You know, that mortagage and health bill reality means I don’t get to go buy a lovely frock from Anthropologie.*  Instead, I’m combing through racks of used clothes praying to the fashion gods above that there is something appropriate and in my size to be found.

I tried it on to model it and I got the patented IZ response of, “Oh, that’s amazing!”  Of course, there’s a direct correlation between what I pay for something and how great IZ thinks it is. He lives by the “less is more” philosophy.  And trust me, I have photographic proof of me looking like hell in an outfit that IZ declared, “AMAZING!” only hours before. He’s lovely and caring and absolutely incapable of being objective about how I look. “How could you let me go out looking like that?!!” I wail. His response? “You looked amazing!”

So, believing my husband, I had this crazy thought, “I know, I’ll take a photo of me in the dress. And I’ll post it on Evidently and see if any of my cool friends want to help with the accessorizing bit, because I’m kinda at a loss.” STUPID move.

Or brilliant, tomorrow when I’m not overwhelmed with how dumpy I still look. Right now, I’m shattered.  I’m calling the dress, “A minor royalty goes on safari”. IZ assures me that the dress looks far more flattering than the photos suggest. But we’ve established what a fibber he is.

My son, who looked up from his computer long enough to take note, did offer an unsolicited opinion, “Mom, you look really good in that.” But then he followed it up with, “It’s very natural. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you look natural in a dress before.”

Ringing endorsements all around. The camera? Well, it doesn’t lie. And it’s screaming at me, “Take that sad sack back!”

So, I trudge on. Slowly. Looking for a dress. Pressing on with the weight loss. Trying not to become depressed by my circumstances and fact that my metabolism resembles that of a zombie.  Today I’m a little teary eyed about that. But tomorrow, I’ll return the dress and comb through the racks again. Indefatigable.

*for the record, a dress from Anthropologie is no more likely to make me look thin, than a dress from Goodwill. But, you know, it’s a dress from Anthro. And I’m convinced if it’s an Anthro dress + a steep price tag = more prettier. (See that, poor logic + bad grammer = Wende being funny) Plus, it’s really fun to watch IZ’s head spin around, “You paid HOW much for that dress. For THAT dress?”

And here are a few focused photos of the dress and hair. Click to embiggen: