A few months ago I read “Getting Pretty Back” by Molly Ringwald. Yes, that Molly Ringwald. The one who is pretty in pink. I thought initially that this book was going to be another celebrity memoir that I could lampoon here on the ol’ blog. It was actually more of a self-help book about how to feel good in your skin. It was charming and sweet and a quick, fun read. She talked about everything from picking a perfect lipstick to choosing tasty wine and cheese to making sure to sleep in pretty pajamas instead of ratty t-shirts. I really enjoyed everything she said.
Then I put a book down and disregarded everything in it. I sleep in ratty t-shirts, my lips are lucky if they get a swipe of Burt’s Bees balm, my wine has a screw-top and cheese in my house comes in stick form.”Pretty” is not in my daily repertoire.
Enter my husband’s Christmas gift to me: a gift card to Victoria’s Secret. My first thought when he gave it to me was “Too bad its not a card or Sephora. I can work with the raw material above the neck.” But my husband isn’t a big fan of make-up. He likes thongs.
I don’t have the kind of ass that looks good in thongs. I used to but that was five years, one pregnancy and a gym membership ago. Now my ass does better in modestly cut bikinis, usually made of cotton. My tits can’t do lacy confections of pastel bras: I need underwires and gel pads to shore up my girls. Sure, pretty jammies would be great but why spend money of the when I have all these t-shirts to sleep in? I mean, no one sees me in this stuff except my husband…
I guess that’s the point, huh? My husband has to look at my undies and pajamas and what the poor man sees are tattered and torn and decidedly unsexy. It can’t be a coincidence that I feel un-sexy in them. I feel cozy and relaxed and loathe to give them up because my life lends itself more to cozy and relaxed than to raging sexpot. Once the day is done and the boy is in bed and I’m stripping off my work clothes and make-up, what I long for is not silk and lace; it’s flannel. And probably 80% of the time my husband doesn’t begrudge me that. At least he better not, oh, Mr. Fleece Sweats. Ahem. But I probably need a stash of stuff to sex it up. Some undies that give me that little “I have a secret!” vibe as I wear them under regular clothes. I mean, I get a boost from a pretty handbag or dangly ear-rings. I know pretty lingerie would do the same thing.
So, I’m going to brave Victoria’s Secret. I’m going to pray for florgiving lighting in the dressing rooms and panties that are at least slightly more substantial than dental floss. Maybe I’ll find some satin jammies, as long as they don’t say anything across the butt. And maybe all of that will put me on track to finding my sense of pretty.