Sweatpant justice

While shopping at Target on Friday I spotted something I never imagined could excite me so: a big rack of Hanes Her Way sweats in all different colors. The big picture-sign above the shelves of fleece informed me that these cozy pieces were just $6 each, and the woman in the picture looked so comfy and happy.

So I bought a couple of sets. Now these are not clothes you'd actually wear to the gym. No, women must be wearing tighter-fighting yoga or running pants with some kind of coordinating tank and zip-front jacket when sporting gym clothes in public. It's the code. These sweats are more the old-fashioned type: a boxy, unfitted sweatshirt with loose-fitting straight-leg sweat pants in mix-and-match colors like black, gray, and purple. These are the sweats I remember from childhood, minus the elastic cuff at the bottom of the pants-leg. Apparently no one wants to go that retro.

I was so excited about buying these (Only $6 per piece! Comfy and warm for these chilly autumn nights!) that I immediately washed them when I got home, eager to wear them later that night. (This is significant because I had mulitple laundry piles waiting patiently for their turn to be washed, and I shockingly let these sweats cut the line.)

Jump to 7:30 that night. I've tucked the kids into bed, and I am deciding which TV show to watch while waiting for Jason to get home from work, decked out in my cute little jeans that make my bum look smallish. I'm still wearing my bra and a nice shirt, too, so that I will still look presentable when he gets home. (Overall, still closer to Roseanne on the done-up scale than to Donna Reed, but trying, anyway.) The minutes tick by as I squirm in my uncomfortable clothes, trying to relax and enjoy another gross-out episode of CSI:Miami. My mind keeps returning to thoughts of the sweats, washed, dried, and folded neatly in my closet. But I resist putting them on and wait for Jason.

And wait.

By the time he gets home, it's close to 10:30, and I give him a quick hello, barely listen to some stories about his day, and then race to the closet to change into the sweats. He saw me in the jeans and shirt, right? As long as he saw me, even if only for five minutes, I get credit, right?

But credit from whom? He probably didn't even notice. And I spent two-and-a-half hours cooped up in tight, pinchy jeans when I could have been lounging in soft, cozy fleece.

So from now on, husbands of the world, a new rule: if you're going to get home from work after 9pm, please do not expect to see your wife's cute little denim bottom and perky little push-up bra. Instead, you can expect to see your wife in amorphous $6 sweats. But, hey - at least she'll be soft to snuggle.

Spicing it up, mildly

Every five years or so, I get antsy and decide to buy something to make myself feel less vanilla.


When I was a teenager, I was awed by my ex-boyfriend's new apartment: his bedroom walls were painted red. RED! And he had some kind of Japanese-style seating area on the floor, which was totally exotic to me. I went home and stared at my cream-colored walls adorned with an old-lady floral border and, sickened by what it said about me, I stayed up all night rearranging my plain ol' stuff to look somehow less plain ol.'

When I went back to school at Rhode Island College, married and pregnant with Annabelle, I was awed by all of the 18-year-olds sitting around me with their guitar cases, American Spirit cigarettes, and literary journals. I hopped the bus to the new mall downtown and bought some sweaters and a giant over-the-shoulder messenger bag to beef up my cool co-ed quotient.

When I started this blog, I was awed by myself - I'm a writer now! - so I needed some style to make me feel the part. I've already mentioned the scarves, (man, does Jason HATE the scarves) but I've also added a few other exciting new articles...

It all happened rather unexpectedly. I was at Target, drenched and shivering from walking through a cats-and-dogs pour without a rain coat (see how cool and rebellious I can be?). I was there to buy a couple of gift cards for the birthday parties the girls were invited to this weekend. It was supposed to be an annoying errand, an in-and-out-$40-lighter kind of thing. No big whoop. But something made me walk through the store toward the women's clothing after I'd grabbed the festive gift cards. Possibly Fate, or maybe just dread of getting drenched in the parking lot again. Anyway, once I turned the corner, I saw some jeans and stopped in my tracks, mouth agape. You see, I have been on a quest for some cool jeans that fit just the right way, wide at the bottom instead of skinny, without all of that weird stretch, that don't show half of my ass when I sit down. I've had jeans like this in the past, and I wore them every day until they literally fell apart. And since they did, I have been on an epic search to find their replacement. I've looked in all of the department stores, and even some foofy boutiquey stores because money is no object - I would happily shell out $200 for the right pair. So imagine my surprise when I found them...in Target...for $29.99.

And, get this: I wasn't sure of the size, so I grabbed two different sizes to try. And the smaller ones fit. Well, you know I snatched up all three pair that they had in my size. Had there been ten of 'em on the rack, I would have bought them all.

So, now that I'd found The Jeans, I strolled up toward the registers, drunk with my success.

And then I saw The Watch.

Since I was a kid, I've always wanted a big, silver man-watch, but for some reason, I've just never bought one. Until now! 'Cause I'm a writer now! So there! It's nothing fancy, just a Timex Expedition for like forty bucks, but it is exactly what I needed. I had the lady remove as many links as she possibly could so that this huge man-watch would fit my little bitty wrist, and then when I tried it on I swear I heard angels singing. It is perfect.

Now you know that it took the lady quite a few minutes to trick my watch out for me, so I started looking around the jewelry counter. I was getting cocky now. And wouldn't you know it, I found some more flair for myself. I've always liked the idea of layering a couple of small necklaces (probably because someone on 90210 or Friends did it), and so I added a couple of silver necklaces to my haul. One has a little charm that represents a Successories-style motivational message: Believe! And the other has a couple of little circle charms that represent...um, circles.


And then I really got crazy and bought a couple of pairs of small silver hoop earrings. This may sound boring to you, but let me share an embarrassing secret: I have been wearing the same pair of earrings since I got my ears pierced at age 19. For real. Microscopic "diamond" studs. So wearing these dangly silver hoops feels roughly the same as getting a tattoo on my face. Baby steps, people.

Annabelle stared at me hard when I picked her up from the birthday party, decked out in all of my new bling, new jeans, and new Anne Taylor Loft sweater (sounds farty, but I swear it's not). "You look younger!" she exclaimed. "Like, 21 or something."

Now that's retail therapy.