I had tall plans for my Christmas card this year which, yes, I begin to execute in August with our annual family portrait. This is my first year with two baby girls whom I was planning to match in fabnormous stuplendor with ruffles up to their eyeballs and, clap, matching splendiffery for me. And a pink shirt for Niko. Pink! All of us! Deliciously faboo pink vomitus for the whole crowd! *imaginary applause!*
It began when I found these adorable tube top shorty jumper things made from the giggles of pixie buzzed cherubs:
Then I found this sort of toolish shirt for Niko, but considering he usually shops out of the Sportsman's Guide, he was due for a little tomfoolery in the costume department:
And then the pinnacle of my life was reached when I found this amazing Betsy Johnson dress for me:
Does it fit? No. Am I in my 30's with no need for bows and ruffles the color of Pepto Bismal? Yes. But there is no way I'd ever let things like "taste" and "fear" prevent me from having a good time. Nope. I also have no singing voice to speak of and yet I once sang live with a band in a crowded bar. Facts simply don't matter when it comes to fun. I deserve to wear this dress NOT because I have the body or curfew to pull it off, but due to sheer will.
It was set. Pink wardrobe all around and a carefully orchestrated appointment with our photographer. Yay cupcake themed family portrait! At the suggestion of my friend Lindsey, I actually picked up a few specialty strawberry cupcakes for those adorable baby-eating-cake shots that were sure to bring the swoons.
At the last minute, the package containing my famously awaited cupcake dress in the correct size . . . did not arrive. IT DIDN'T ARRIVE. No cupcake dress for me!
So I put my family in their pink finery anyway and sat, sullen, in the back of the photo shoot in drab olive and black. At least I wasn't smoking a cigarette with panda eye make-up because really, I was that upset.
Merry stinkin' Christmas.
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