Total Frump

I know this may be a real shocker, but black yoga pants, tanks and t's are a firm foundational staple of my wardrobe. I like comfort. I like ease. And I like having a reason to STAY HOME even though I'm not really home all the time. But, it is probably high time I learn to be more social after hibernating under a rock with my new baby for as long as she's been alive.

I haven't turned in to some recluse or anything. I'm running around getting things done. I'm just not having lunch or dinner out or going to see a movie here or there. Yesterday I spent my morning with a favorite pal for the first time in... well, 7 months, kidless. Sure, summer's a slow season for lunch out anyway. Taking 3 extras along sounds more fun than a root canal, but not by much. They at least give you drugs for that and sometimes just knock you right out. I'm for being knocked out.

It does start making me wonder - maybe what I have on puts a kink in my willingness to be seen more often by people I like when Murph asked me one evening... did I just stay in my pj's all day or what.
Me: "These aren't pj's."
Murph: "Oh."
Or when I came back out into the living room after getting ready
Murph: "I thought you said you were taking a shower."
Me: "I did."
Murph: "Oh."

Yoga pants, tanks and t's are the new mom's black. And I admit I don't mind looking like a mom as long as my pants don't go over my belly-button. Criteria, people. It's all in the belly-button. And since a belly-button is relatively small, it can't contain much of anything - certainly not a lot of criteria. I can always sleep in what I have on... that's a two-for. And people might think I worked out. That's a three-point buzzer beater.

However, here in lies the problem: Getting ready for church with a wide array of yoga pants and t's to choose from makes a gal want to stay home. Or being asked... or volunteered... or more like my feet held to the fire when I say I'd be glad to start a cooking club - where I'm the one coming up with and demonstrating the items to cook, showing people they don't have to rotate spaghetti and meatballs, chicken and green beans, casseroles or take-out every night for 365 days straight is - well - making me lose sleep. Apart from taking on an idea I should feel more confident about, I'm kind of realizing I can't wear yoga pants every time. Or at least, I'm not going to want to.

Yes, the most famous GranMary took me shopping, remember? But I can't wear a darling ruffly Ann Taylor top with yoga pants! I won't! I just won't do it! So, I guess I'm going to have to put more thought into it. I am on my way with a new hair-cut, though. I wanted something I could wear wavy. And well, I'm having to get used to channeling Jerry Garcia curly or Joan Jett straight. So, a return to cuteness by rounding out the new me minus the old duds may be a boost for my hair's inner psyche. Or it may exhaust me to no end. I'll let you know.