Wigging out

I actually bought a pair of maternity pants over the weekend.

Well, truth be told, my mother bought them, because she bought the shirt for me that I exchanged for them (the shirt was gorgeous, by the way - just for some reason the designer thought a maternity shirt should allow NO ROOM for bosom, and I need a double room and then some...)

Anyhoo.

So, I finally bought some maternity pants.

Now, I normally buy a 16 because designers don't believe in thighs and I don't believe in flaunting my generous pair too well, so I just grabbed a 16 which made me look like I was 20 months but then what doesn't...

I believe that store dressing rooms give you grey hair. I mean, I am sure I had none on Saturday morning when I did the cursory glance as I went out the door - but then I got to Target and saw a grey halo...

It is a special ingredient in the mirrors - the same ones that convince you to buy crap you shouldn't and then thumps you with a "you look fat and old" signal as you change out of it...

Makes you want to go home and dye, so you make stupid shopping decisions in haste.

Anyhoo - wore them today and had to keep hitching, because while allowing the generosity in the thigh it was also allowing for a waist of a well proportioned full term woman, methinks.

My mum did suggest braces, but I got all giggly at the thought of topping it with a red shirt, polka dot yellow bow tie and trying to get in and out of a telephone booth with many others!

Still, at least my budding fashion designer saw past the obvious flaws in my wardrobe.

"Wear black, mummy" said 'Salina. "It makes you look so pretty".

If anyone sees a black baggy panted, braced, flame-haired wierdo, please don't freak - it may just be this clown.