'Tis the season for Christmas parties. Yup. And DH is expected to go to all of them. With his lovely wife (not me, no one would ever call me lovely to my face and get away with it).
Due to the shiftwork nature of working at the mine, there are three parties. I have consented to attend two of them, which, considering my tendency to remain in the home unless we're completely out of cat food and bread, is a pretty darn big thing.
In my typical way of avoiding thinking about things I consider unpleasant (tee hee), I am only just now (2 hours 10 minutes from "Cocktails at 6:00") looking at my closet and deciding what to wear. Oy.
Here's the kicker. Some weight has come off over the last year (good), but new clothes have not been added to the wardrobe. So, knowing that my dressy clothes all hang sadly off my hips, and run the danger of dropping off completely if I don't stick out my stomach, I have been carb loading and eating everything I can get in my mouth all week. You know, add a little cushioning. In a probably futile attempt to get the Christmas party wardrobe to look like it is actually mine, not borrowed from a bigger sister.
The camera is still misplaced, so no photos. Will advise on the weekend as to whether the mad "oh shit, my pants are too loose" eating binge helped, or whether the bottom half of my party ensemble fell off at an inopportune time. Wait, is there an opportune time for your pants to fall down? Hmmm.