I know you guys are all dying to know...
...yes, I ended up wearing nylons to my husband’s Christmas party.
Even though they are "out".
And I wore open toed shoes.
The horror. The good news is, I’m not a celebrity so I didn’t have to worry about all those fashion people who would circle everything wrong with what I’m wearing on a projector or my picture showing up at the back of US Weekly magazine with the snarky comment, "She's literally wearing her Dirty Laundry."
But let me back up.
I still wasn’t sure about my makeup. When it came time to apply it, I took a deep breath and climbed the stairs slowly. I had already made a mistake getting ready earlier: while straightening my hair, I managed to burn my nose. How, I don’t know. For awhile I thought I’d show up at the party with a streak across my nose.
“I’m Rudolph,” I planned on joking,
Thankfully the mark faded before the party.
With the makeup, well, I poked my eye with the mascara. Then when I had everything applied I realized, dammit, I forgot to brush my teeth. So I had to take my makeup off, brush my teeth, wash my face, and put it back on.
“Why can’t I afford a stylist?” I grumbled. All those Real Housewives always have a makeup person before they go to a party. Must be nice. I would love a stylist. I clearly need help. Granted, if I had one, she would not have let me leave the house wearing nylons. And she’d have made me get my nails done.
I hate polish on my nails, which sounds weird, because as a girl I should love manicures and pedicures. Honestly, I’ve never had one in my life. Manicures because I think the crap that is rubbed on my nails would bug me and pedictures because I’m very ticklish and wouldn’t want to accidentally kick the poor worker. I have polished my nails before but I always tend to pick it off. So what I did for the party was cut them neatly and leave it at that.
So how did I look? Well, I had my son take a photo:
Then it was time to go. I grabbed my sparkly clutch purse and we were off.
The party was fun.
Tom even pulled me onto the dance floor at one point.
The food was tasty. Dessert was cheesecake. I was happy. Tom was not. He’s strange and does not like cheesecake.
I did not drink even though it seemed almost everyone around me was. It’s just, I get very chatty when I drink so I need to make sure I’m around people who are tolerable to that.
I did get laughed at when I walked in my heels. Not rudely, but this one chick was like, “You do not look comfortable,” as I clomped out of the party room.
Wearing heels feels like you have a wild animal nibbling on your feet.
I should so get a bumper sticker with that phrase.