The nefarious Book Launch Party is coming up in a week. May 16th is take off day and I swear it’s coming at me like a ’85 Honda hatchback with no brakes and I’m the flipping brick wall. Don’t get me wrong, I am really excited about the party. I am also freaking out.
I don’t know what the heck to wear.
This isn’t like an OH EM GEE moment where I can’t decide to go with my signature color (eye roll) on this super special day. This is an honest to goodness I-own-only-sportwear-yogapants-and-trailgear. Dresses? Yes, I own them, but… I seem to have a style problem. I have no issues wearing flip flops to church, hosiery is a filthy curse word and I have no qualms wearing baby blue, orange and lime green in a very knock your flipping eyeballs out sort of way. I seem to keep places like Columbia and North Face afloat singlehandedly with my credit card. I don’t have a signature color and all I require is a little comfort and covers all my stretch marks. That’s my style mantra.
However… for my party, I just want to feel pretty. For one night.
No sweats. No yoga pants. No hiking sandals.
How hard could it be? Hard, apparently because I think my brain just short circuited thinking about it. Oh well, I guess I slap on something decent. It’ll be comfy. I’ll smile and chat and sign my fingers crooked, but I’ll love every minute of it. It’ll be crazy and my nutty martial arts instructor wants me to do a sword demonstration for a whole bunch of strangers. I’ll probably have a minor heart attack, but it’ll all be worth it.
I hope. Because I keep on having nightmares that I show up in my underwear.
In happier news… Down at the local JR. High, the History teacher got hold of my book and was reading the first chapter to his students during classes. I hope that means he likes it because his students commented that he has a pretty groovy snort when he laughs.