I shouldn’t look forward to an upcoming wedding so much more just because I have something new to wear. It won’t affect the outcome; afterwards the guests will be talking about the bride’s dress, the priest muddling up the names in the church, how funny the MC was and whether they got the chicken or the beef.
There’ll be no mention of my new shoes, how fortunate it was that I found the exact shade to match my dress and how my stomach looked slightly flatter due to my new control briefs.
This time we won’t be late to the wedding as I won’t have to go through the different stages of getting ready. The first stage begins when the invitation arrives with “What am I going to wear?” The final stage of “I’ve got nothing to wear!” ends with a dash to the car hoping we’ll make it to the church before the bride, leaving the crumpled mass of clothes on the end of the bed and the hangers tangled in the middle of the bed, putting on my seat belt and looking down at where it crosses my lap, breathing in and wishing my stomach looked like that.
There’s something about getting something new.
When I finished a new top for the girls last week and helped to put them on, Maeve looked down at hers, smiled and span around.
Maybe there’s something more physiological in retail therapy than we think. Our one-year-old looked as happy with her new top as I feel loading a couple of colourful shopping bags with cord handles into the boot.
I must say, though, she shows the same joy just seeing her own toes each morning when I unzip her sleeping bag.
Perhaps there’s a lesson in there for me as to where to find joy.
Ok then. So why doesn’t she look down and twirl after I put her pyjamas on…
Well, tomorrow I’ll try Maeve’s exclamation as I swing my legs out of bed, “Hey toes!”
Already there’s so much good in being able to swing your legs out of bed and greet your toes like that, that I think she’s onto something.
I should be just as happy to see my toes whether or not they’re peeping out the front of my new nude-coloured wedges.