Have a mentioned that we don't have any full length mirrors in the house? This was never an issue before, because we had one of those huge mirrors in our master bathroom that pretty much went from the sinks to the ceiling and spanned the whole length of our stylish seashell-shaped sink faux marble countertops. You know the kind, the ones that the designers on HGTV joyfully rip out immediately. And so of course, a few months ago when we updated the bathroom, out that mirror went. No big deal, right? Right, until I have to dress up for something.
The last wedding I went to was my own, and I was pretty much set on what to wear. I also had about ten other women sharing a hotel suite with me, so I was good to go as far as advice. Before that I think the last wedding I was at was five years ago, so my fashion etiquette was rusty. Ripping dresses off hangers and digging for shoes, scarves, purses. Can I wear a black dress? Or does that scream "I got confused and thought I was going to a funeral!" Maybe not. Kate Middleton wore black to a wedding. I saw it, and she's golden, so I'm probably okay there. Should I throw that blazer on over my strapless dress or is that too job-interviewy? Mmm...never saw Kate do that, better not. Nylons? Tights? She can pull them off. I better get my ass to Target and find some. Can't wear anything that has a significant amount of white or ivory, so that rules out the cute dress with peacock feathers on it. I thought about texting a friend to find out what she was wearing, but thought better of it deciding that "what are you wearing?" is too junior high.
So I resorted to trying on each dress, with the coordinating tights and shoes, then standing on one leg on the fourth stair up, holding onto the railing with one hand and stretching out my other leg and half my body over the bottom three stairs so I could catch a glimpse of my outfit in the mirror mounted over our fireplace. Let me tell you, I looked classy. It only would be a better mental image for you if I fell off my perch and tumbled down the stairs in my black dress, with my blazer flying up over my head (which, incidentally, almost happened).
My flying-squirrel-in-front-of-the-mirror gig wasn't working for me, so I thought I'd see what my dogs' opinions were. Yep, that's how desperate I was getting. Outside I went, so they could check me out. Charlie couldn't have cared less. He's what I like to call our "simple" dog. All you have to do is say "Chaaaaaar-leeeeee" in a baby voice and wave at him and he's on cloud nine. He'll wag his tail, but only to one side, because that's how he rolls. Lola just ran right past me and went over to pee next to Charlie. She's nice like that. Two down, two to go. Bella thought my dress would look better accessorized with two muddy paw prints right up front. Um no. And then Bridgette moseyed on over. "Excellent," I thought. Bridgette actually has opinions. She prefers green over all other colors, she likes toys that can float in the pool, she even likes wearing clothes herself. The thing with Bridgette is that she really loves me AND she thinks she's the size of Lola (7 lbs) when really, she's about 10 times that, and she enjoys the pool more than anyone else in the family so she's wet ninety percent of the time. Bridgette was all smiles as she came up to me. I thought, "wow, she really likes my outfit." By the way, I know everyone reading this started to think I was crazy by the time they started reading this paragraph, but I promise, I'm mostly not. Moving on. Bridgette started to turn and circle me. "Checking me out," I thought. Wrong. At this point I should mention that Bridge was hit by a car and broke and dislocated her jaw when she was about 6 months old. As a result, her lower jaw sits about a half inch off-kilter and one of her favorite pastimes is having her muzzle scratched. Anyway, she made her way around me and immediately started rubbing the sides of her muzzle on my backside. And her head is right at about the same level as my butt. "Okay, well I see you like this dress, Bridgette, but now I CAN'T wear it, since my butt is now covered in a gloppy mess of your saliva, your hair, and pool water." Yum.
Gray and black dress, with black shrug and patterned tights it is. As it turns out, my friend I almost texted was having the same (albeit probably not as dramatic) issues picking out clothes as I was. Moral of the story, you ask? It's two-fold, it is. 1) Do not ask your dogs for advice. If they care, and that's a big if, when they like something, it will most likely become unwearable, so don't bother (and when you tell others about it, everyone will think you've gone off the deep end); 2) Own a full-length mirror. It will make your life so much easier. Or at the very least, spare you the trouble of nearly ricocheting down some stairs. In my personal experience anyway...
