Tomorrow night I'm supposed to go to a 1920s themed party at a bar in Atlanta. I'm supposed to dress up.
This is so out of my comfort zone it's not even funny.
I don't go to parties. I don't dress up.
Still, I bought a flapperish dress, a hat, borrowed some shoes. Put it all on and ohmygod I look like an 80 year old woman going to a funeral. An 80 year old woman going to a funeral who thought she could pull off a dress with spaghetti straps.
I have never in my life worn spaghetti straps.
I'm totally panicking this morning on what to wear to this party. Or if I should go. It's a testament to how much I love the birthday girl and my other friends who will be there that I'm trying to pull my shit together to go.
I want to see everyone and I also want to really keep pushing myself to open up and do new things and not not not not slip back into the old me who was just half of me. At best.
I'm buying a back up outfit of black jeans and something to go with it just in case I can't pull the flapper thing off.
Damn. I have to go shopping now.