I realized this morning that I have nothing to wear to my conference in Orlando in nine days. None of my pre-pregnancy clothes fit. I have one pair of jeans that fits well and a pair of corduroys that I can squeeze into, but neither are conference worthy. This means…
I have to go shopping.
I am the world’s worst clothes shopper. I get so nervous when I go clothes shopping. I really don’t know why. Much like my inability to experiment with food or just “throw things together,” I have never been good at putting different pieces together to make outfits. Instead, my tendency is to go into a store like Ann Taylor Loft, look at the mannequin, and say “I’ll take that.” That pretty much guarantees that I spend the maximum amount of money possible. Not ideal.
So, Husband and J-Man are headed to the gym, and I and the baby are headed to the mall. My palms are clammy. I already called my mom and asked if she’ll meet me there for moral support. Plus, she has a good eye, despite her predilection for sparkles.
Wish me luck. I need it.