I have a wedding to attend very soon, which sends me into that typical female tailspin regarding what to wear. My situation, though, is complicated by the fact that I'm pregnant.
"What?!" I can hear you shouting drunkenly at your computer monitor, sending a nearby cluster of roaches scuttling hither and yon. "You're pregnant?! You never said anything about being pregnant!"
Look, asshole. I don't tell you everything. What, you want to hear everything? Is that what you want this blog to be about? Okay, how's this:
My shoes are kind of hurting my feet right now. They're old and should probably be replaced, but they're so cute! I love them, and they don't make this style anymore. I should know, I've checked every bloody shoe store in town--no dice. So I took these to the shoe repair shop and had the super-nice Asian guy who can't understand a thing I say repair the little rip in the seam, and he only charged me eight bucks. Good as new! Except that they hurt my feet, and they didn't used to do that. I guess that's what happens when the soles gets worn down, or whatever. Oh, I could just 'get over it' and go buy a different pair, but did I mention how cute these are? So, so, so cute. I have a hard time finding just the right style AND just the right heel height AND just the right color AND at just the right price, all in one shoe--know what I mean? It's funny, I have SO many pairs of shoes in my closet, but I wear this one pair, like, 90% of the time! Just like I was saying to my sister the other day....
You see? You see what this blog devolves into when I start puking up every thought in my head, every mundane fact about my life? Be glad I keep it neat, only posting about once a week criticize the entire human race, and take potshots at Dyckerson and Wombat.
At any rate, back to my fashion dilemma. Normally I'd be happy to look for something to wear to this wedding; girls love to get dressed up. Unless, of course, they've recently developed a grossly distorted, tumor-like mass in their mid-section that makes literally every cute/pretty/elegant clothing item look like an old shower curtain on them. When trying on dresses today, I looked a little bit like a Dow scrubbing bubble in most of them. Okay, I may be exaggerating a little bit--I'm only four and a half months along right now. But still, that means I already have no waist left, and it turns out that most dresses are made by and for people who have a waist.
So, since I can't look glamorous, cute, elegant or pretty at this wedding, I'm going to try for a different approach altogether--I'm going for outrageous and different. Kind of like when some kids turn 14 and realize they're not turning out to be as attractive as they'd hoped, so they opt to put 42 piercings in their body, color their hair fuchsia and wear packing materials as clothing, with the idea that if they can't compete, they can at least stand out. Suddenly, this dreaded task becomes fun! Now to narrow down my options.
I could go in full scuba gear. I will refuse to take my scuba mask off even while eating wedding cake, and whenever I go I will move my arms in a swimming motion. I'm still debating on whether to also carry a spear.
I could go in a wrestling singlet, which I've already made clear my great love for. At the reception, everyone else will be drinking and having a great time, rudely oblivious to my jealousy, unable as I am to drink for the entirely of my gestation (or my parole). To avenge my anger, I will randomly pin members of the wedding party to the floor in a wrestling hold.
I could go dressed as the Hamburglar. I will reply to every question asked of me with "robble robble," and when moving from place to place, I will dash furtively rather than walking.
I could go in a gladiator costume, complete with helmet and sword. When the preacher says, "I now present Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So," I will stand up and shout, "At my signal, unleash hell!"
I know it's rude and wrong of me to take my fashion frustration out on the perfectly likable couple getting married. But I think I've come a long way in my anger management. Whereas years ago I might have vented my unhappiness by sleeping with my boss's wife, slaughtering a family of five, or urinating on gradeschooler, these days the kinder, mellower Karla has toned it down, merely dressing inappropriately at a wedding. Baby steps, see?
Of course, my final outfit hasn't yet been decided, so if any of you have experience in outfitting Mr. Potato Head, Humpty Dumpty or a Weeble, I'll consider any advice you might have for what I should wear.