High School Dress Anxiety Revisited

I love those mornings when you jump out of bed, and the sun is coming in through the windows at a slant, making the room light and white, the wooden floors are soft underfoot (not too cold yet, because winter is only just around the corner), the jungle of green that you have jumbled up everywhere (because you just took in the plants due to the impending winter just around the corner) looks healthy with sunlight interplaying through the leaves, and the radio (satellite) plays just about the best songs to jump and sing out to.

I love those mornings.

Of course, I hate the Bruce Cockburn remake. But it’s only a temporary set back. And then I get to jump and sing again.

The best part about this particular morning is that I finally figured out what I am going to wear to my high school reunion and I don’t have to go shopping. Since I haven’t bought anything dressy in about ten years, and still seem to have a lot of my ‘80’s wardrobe, I’m concerned about the large-flower print filmy almost mini -skirt, but think I can pull off retro chic with my “lean” (hee hee) tri legs ensheathed in sheerness of some sort and a fitted mature-yet-sexy (meaning “not too tight”) top.
Dress code?
Haven’t received one yet.
Anyway. I love those mornings.
Now I’m off for a run.

IMPORTANT UPDATE TO POST (in honor of the wishes of others…)

The patients I work with are more excited than I am about this reunion thing. I mean, they are really excited. “Have you gone shopping yet?” was the question of the day. Hour after hour I received advice.
“You have to be sexy.”
“Wear something tight with a push up bra.”
“You need a sparkly mini-dress.”
The ever present, “With a figure like yours….” Which was nice to hear, but I’m pretty much disguised at work—lots of loose PC clothing, that I almost get lost in. Someone twice my size could probably fit into what I wear. How could anyone know what I really look like?

Frannie, the mother of one of my patients, waved at me from across the gym, then heaved up her blue eye-shadowed, bouffant hair-do'd, 60 plus year old, non-active body to “dash” over to me. She looked so anxious, I was sure she wanted to talk about her daughter, who’s impending discharge, initiated by the insurance company, brings tears to her eyes. You have to go to “Ritzy Rags!” she tells me, breathless from her 30 foot maneuver across the gym. It's nice to see her smile with the conviction of having given me good advice.

I feel like I should get dressed up for them.
Tell them that I wore that sparkly mini-cocktail dress, walked in and wowed the whole room.
I’m not sure a filmy retro large-flower print skirt that must be 15 years old is what they’re envisioning for me.
(Sigh)
I guess I have to go shopping.