I'm also in a strange stage in my life. I have crossover tastes in clothes. Some stuff I like is in Misses. Other things are in Juniors.
WHICH DEPARTMENT AM I SUPPOSED TO SHOP IN?!
I'm only 25. I'm still young (even though there are days I feel way too old). But am I still young enough to get away with shopping in the Junior section? Or am I at the age where I need to avoid it like the plague.
Because here comes problem #2.
I can not stand to wear anything but low-rise jeans. Now, I'm not talking about I bend over and you can see what kind of plumber butt I have. But anything that either hits or comes above my belly button, and I feel like I'm being strangled by a boa constrictor. I've tried to wear mid-rise. Nope. Not happening.
Then, there is my love of shoes. Oh dear Lord, do I love shoes. It' a problem. I purposely don't go into Off Broadway or DSW unattended. I know horrible things will happen. But I had Kyle with me this weekend, and he allowed it. So off I went.
First, shoes are ridiculously priced. Fall boots I adore. The price tags make me cry. So I ALWAYS bee-line for the clearance section of every store. I have damn near never paid full price for any shoes I own.
And did I hit the jack-pot! Some absolutely to die for hot pink pumps that made me feel like a million dollars. Black patent heels that I rocked. Boots that actually slimmed my thighs. Red sex kitten heels. All under $40 each. I was in love. And Kyle was going to let me have two pairs.
Well, the hot pink ones are awesome, but I don't have anything to wear with them.
The black ones are cute, but I always buy black. I need color.
The boots are nice, but they are so tight that I couldn't even get skinny jeans in there.
Where on earth would I wear those red ones to? I'm not a stripper.
Did you see what I did there? Do you realize what I just did? Isn't it just sick?
I have issues. So many issues. But one that actually makes me want to punch myself, is when my husband tries to spoil me rotten, and I deny it all.
My wonderful husband wanted me to get two pairs of shoes that made me feel good about myself, and I found every reason to NOT get them. Now don't get me wrong, every reason is valid. I can't really see myself wearing red heels on a playdate or hot pink pumps to the supermarket. I have two kids. That I have to chase. I don't run well in heels.
As we walked out of the store though, I saw Kyle's face. He was sad. He was disappointed that I wasn't allowing him to spoil me. And I felt horrible. But did I turn around and pick two pairs out? No. I started defending my decision.
What if we end up needing that money?
I know I need to buy new clothes, but that doesn't mean I'll find anything to go with those shoes.
We don't go out very often, and I don't want them to just sit in the closet getting dusty.
It was bad. And of course, because of my attitude, the rest of the afternoon was pretty much shot. It sucked. It still sucks. I feel stupid and horrible and mean and just icky inside.
I need to work on my wife-esteem. Part of the reason I denied my husband's attempts to spoil me is because I still feel like I don't deserve it. Because I'm not at my target weight yet, I feel like I should buy a whole lot of stuff because (in theory) I won't be able to wear it for very long. So why spend a ton of money on me when we could be spending it on the kids or Kyle? Why me when everyone else needs so much.
I know I'm on a dangerous path. This is the beginning of the road to complete desolation of myself. Kyle is proud of me, so I should be proud of me. My husband still thinks I'm hot stuff, so I should feel like hot stuff. My family loves me, so I should love me.
It all sounds good in theory, but it's always harder done than said. I know I need to work on my wife-esteem. I need to be okay with Kyle wanting to buy me things I want. No matter what I think. It makes my husband feel good about himself. I need to stop focusing everything I've got on everyone else, and spend at least a little more energy on me.
Otherwise, we all know where I'm going to end up. Overweight, stuck in sweatpants, permanent mom ponytail, and no cute shoes.