Do I want to look like a clubbing queen, a rock star, a fashionista, a SAHM, or an ethereal goddess? Thursday night the Kiddo is staying home and Hubby and I get to hit the Hard Rock to see a sold out Florence + the Machine concert.  We haven’t been out in ages.  And I am having a wardrobe crisis.

As a SAHM/blogger/writer I don’t get out much, but I like adore clothes.  My closets and drawers are overflowing, and yes, there are many items I have never worn.  Not the everyday boring stuff  like  yoga pants and tanks to wear to the gym and  errands after if (I don’t feel to bloated and lumpy in the clingy clothes), shorts and tanks, skirts and tanks, and almost always flip flops.

The day I wore a pencil skirt and red wedge sandals to the grocery store I was stared at as if I had grown a third breast and a tail.  It just isn’t done at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning around here.

So going out–and to a rock concert at that–makes for some major wardrobe decisions.   I’m going to drink beer and dance my ass off.  And I need to be able to stand for hours, so comfy shoes are essential.

Adding to the challenge is this week’s temperatures in the upper 90’s. Take a couple of thousand sweaty and drunk bodies dancing and bouncing  against each other on top of that and it’s going to be ridiculously hot.  No jeans, no pants, no sleeves allowed.  And prey it doesn’t rain.

Two hours wasted playing a racier grown-up version of dress-up and I still don’t know what the hell I’m wearing. 

Finding the perfect balance of hot but not slutty, hip but not like I raided my hypothetical teenage daugher’s closet is hard freakin work.

Do I show off lots of leg with black hot pants and a sleek black top?   Too short?  I spent twenty minutes staring at the back of my legs searching for cellulite.

Too black?

I find an irridescent emerald green top and belt it tigh around the waist. Damn, the Victoria’s Secret bombshell bra (aka boob job in a box) makes me feel like a stripper.  But the green sets of my red hair and makes my eyes glow–awesome.  An infuriating line of ruffles going down the center has got to go.  I spend a half hour cutting the huge ruffle off and try it back on.

But my parents are babysitting.  My Dad will pitch a fit if I walk out the door in heels and hot pants.  Next.

How about a sexy but classy black dress?  Hmmm, lots of cleavage and skims my sides just right, but it comes down just past my knees.  I feel too respectable.  And old.  Next.

Why don’t I go long?  I slide on a black halter maxi dress.  I feel mature.  {sigh}  But it could work.

Another black dress (why do I have so many?) discarded.  Clingy but neckline is too boring.

I try on a green halter top maxi dress with a patterend flowy skirt.  Hmm… I pin a flower in my hair.  I look pretty, not like a rock star.  Do I want to do pretty?  Will I dance on my skirt hem?

 
I find a vintage silk skirt covered with Warhol’s Cambell’s Soup cans.  Interesting.  Love this piece but I have never had any place to wear it–it’s dayglow colors just scream “stare at me.”  I try pulling it up to make it a strapless dress–nah, too blousy.  I pair it with a salmon strappy tank top–interesting.  Very comfortable.  Does nothing for my hair or eyes.

But the show is sold out.  We are going to be packed in there like oily tinned sardines.  No one will even be able to see my skirt.  So it’s all about the top and staying cool, right?

Tops…how about the Asian halter with a pencil skirt?  Or the black trapeze with the annoyingly flowy middle but interesting shoulder straps?  Ugh, it makes me look as if I am knocked-up with a beer in hand.

And why do I even care?  It’s not like I’m trying to pick up a date.  Hubby already thinks I’m a catch (and if he didn’t tough luck–he’s stuck with me).

Sometimes I hate being a woman.  These outfits all suck.  I’m too old and boring and it seems my smoking hot rock goddess jumped ship years ago. Maybe I’ll just shove it all back in the closet and wear shorts and flip flops.

What do you think?  Help a girlfriend out, please…..

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