Fight the Frump Report: Week 2 (and 3? what day is it? where am I?)

(A quick pre-actual-content aside: Why didn’t anyone TELL ME this dress was for sale? And for only $807,000! We could’ve gone halfsies!)

So it’s taken a little longer than I expected, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of this whole “rise above the lure of the elastic waistband” thing. For the past five (5!) days, I’ve gotten my shower at a decentish time, blow-dried my hair and put on a little makeup. Five days! In a row!

And I. Feel. Fantastic.

My skin looks so much better. I’m no longer cringing when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m no longer threatening to hack my hair off with the kitchen scissors. Ponytails? Who needs ponytails? Have you not noticed my smooth, tangle-free hair? Two extra minutes in the shower is all it took. It’s easy! You can do it!

I should wear one of those buttons that says ASK ME ABOUT MY CONDITIONER.

I can keep my entire post-shower routine down at around 15 minutes, which is pretty good, considering I used to be one of those fairly high-maintenance types (I know! You’re shocked!) who had trouble getting out the door in less than an hour. A streamlined routine is essential, as is remembering not to leave any mugs with a couple swigs of lukewarm coffee in them lying around, because when you emerge victorious from the bathroom you will spend the next 20 minutes of your life scrubbing coffee stains off the couch.

But you will look GOOD doing it. GLOWY EVEN.

In other News About Me, Because You Care Deeply, I have a skinny jeans update for you. I wore them. Outside! On a date! (With Jason obviously, but sans child, so very date-like.)

I was not thrilled to be wearing them. In fact, I probably tried on about every other possibly piece of clothing in my closet before finally being convinced to just wear the damn things already. I felt very…hippy. And kind of fashion -victim-meets-mafia-wife-tacky, especially after strapping on my high heels.

But after I put on my winter coat, I noticed how long and skinny my calves looked. And how nice it was to have jeans that didn’t completely cover my feet. At the restaurant I did that thing where you shrug off your coat while sitting down, all to avoid showing off le ass to other diners. This worked fine until I had to go to the bathroom. Luckily, I’d had wine by then.

Anyway, I know the last thing the Internet wants to read is some rambling blow-by-blow about How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Skinny Jean, but…well, by the end of the night? I felt awfully damn fabulous in those jeans. Possibly because my hot husband had a hard time keeping his hands off my ass.

(You’re still only getting a shot from the knees down though. I mean, honestly.)

They’re just screaming for a matching gold lame top though, right?

Also, say hello to the kitty litter and the toes of Jason’s shoes. Our house is very tidy.