Pretty

I'm wearing a dress to work today. I've never worn a dress to work before, but for some reason I have bought a lot of dresses this season and its supposed to be a cool 90 degrees today so I figured why the hell not? Everyone else wears dresses to work. Its soooo comfortable.

I've also gotten three compliments today and its only 9:45.

I've never really been one to dress up. Only after college did I start buying skirts when I realized that sometimes professional women wore skirts. Then I had an epiphany! Skirts are rediculously comfortable! What I had been waiting for all my life. Now I hang out in skirts, I trapsed through Europe in skirts and my wardrobe contains more skirts than pants. A-Line is my friend. The way I'm shaped I can also buy skirts in smaller sizes than I do pants, because my waist is a lot smaller than my dreaded thigh/rear area. So buying skirts is always an ego boost.

All this comes as much irony to my mother. As her second child and first girl, I'm sure she had visions of a little complacent girl who she could dress up and fix her hair, and everyone would tell her what a beautful little girl she had.

Instead she got me.

A hellion to say the least. Her favorite comment is that they couldn't take me out of the house until I was five. I had major burns, a concussion and had my hand sucked in by a horse all before the age of two. I don't remember any of that, but the stories are pretty funny. They were all faults of my own. Well I blame the burns of my brother, but its okay I show no scars. The only memories are from pictures of my at the beach with my little right hand and foot wrapped in white bandages. The whole incident traumatized my other brother more. He wouldn't leave my mother's side for a month.

I wonder if a lot of my mishaps cause the worrying, hyper-concerned older brother I have today? The fact that my mom had to leave a screaming singed toddler with him while she found my dad, and then had him sit next to me and keep me awake when I concussed myself trying to climb into my dolls carriage probably had a little bit to do with it.

I'm completely unaffected!

My mother did try her best to make me into a little girl. By kindergarten my hair was a tangled mess down to my waist and instead of letting my mom pull it into a pony tail, braid or pig tails, I wouldn't let her touch it. Needless to say, by first grade I was sporting a neat bob.

She designated Monday as dress day. I was horrible, my mom is convinced that she is lucky that no on called DSS on dress day judging by the screams that emited from my tiny mouth as she came at me with a dress. I'll give her credit, she did prevail eventually and every Monday I was dressing in something frilly with some smocking and possibly some ribbons. My most infamous dress hating scenario is re-told every Christmas by my extended family. Mynana, who should have know better by then, had wrapped up a new dress for me. I tore into my pretty new present with anticipation on my face, but that quickly faded to disappointmen and disbelife as I opened a dress! To the amusement of my whole family, I threw the whole package on the ground and jumped up and down on it in a mini-tantrum.

I'm sure my mother had never been more proud.

Now here I am wearing a dress of my own accord, and I like it.