Fortunately There are No Photos (that I know of)

I am a first born.  Which means I'm an overachiever.  I can't help it.  It's just one of those things that happens despite my best intentions to lounge around quite a bit.

Take today, I overachieved in the Fashion Don't realm of life.  If Glamour magazine got a look at me today, in about 3 months I'll be on their last page with a black bar over my eyes.  Honestly, it's amazing I didn't run into everyone and their brother today.

My pants are too short.  Not short enough that people might think I bought the wrong length capris.  Nope.  Each pant leg is barely grazing the tops of my tennis shoes.   Just short enough to make sure I look 3 inches shorter and 10 pounds heavier.  You gotta love that. 

The pants are velour.  Enough said.

I paired these stunners with a long sleeved man's Volcom t-shirt.  And yes, it accentuates every figure flaw that it touches. And once my youngest finished knocking over his orange soda at lunch, I looked even better.  Why yes, I did, in fact, continue on from lunch to do  my Sam's Club shopping, why do you ask?

My hair is in the same shape as my body, limp and tired.  The thing they don't tell you when you hurt your back and are taking muscle relaxers, is that you will be utterly unable to suck in your gut.  There is no standing straight, abs pulled in, shoulders back, chin raised.  Not. At All. 

So if you saw me, my bad hair, my floods and my shapeless t-shirt today, my limp relaxed posture, thank you for turning away and pretending you never saw it all.  I appreciate it.

Changing into flannel pj's now,
~S