Cluck, Cluck

So I reaffirmed my status as an occasional idiot this morning. I think this happens in order to bring me down a peg or two.

Over the summer I attended a seminar that very kindly gave attendees a $25 gift certificate to Macy's as a reward for attending (not that a gift certificate and a free lunch were why I attended. Of course not.) Now Macy's isn't a place I normally shop, as I'm a girl who enjoys thriftiness and LOVES a good sale. However, I had the gift certificate, and Macy's indeed had a sale (by their standards), so I went. And I did get a nice $10 blouse (at Macy's? Really? Who knew!) as well as a luxury item: I bought a pair of very comfortable and extremely elegant black slacks that looked wonderful, felt like heaven, and flowed lovingly around my legs with silken caresses. They were on sale, and the gift certificate helped, but I still spent some extra moolah on that one.

This morning I pulled those slacks out of my closet and put them on. Or rather, tugged them on. Because rather than sliding smoothly over my skin and billowing gently about my legs, they were snug. And short.

I looked at the mirror in horror. Had I gained that much weight? Were my thighs really that fat?

Ah no. (Well, probably a little bit true, but not the problem this time.) It occured to me that I had worn the slacks a couple of times before and I couldn't remember whether I had cleaned them properly or not. I tugged them off again and checked the label.

Remember I said they had a silken caress? More right than I knew. 100% silk. Dry clean only. And I suddenly had a horrible flashback to tossing the slacks in a carefree manner on the top of Mt. Washmore some weeks before.

I am an idiot.

In a kinda-sorta related event, ComputerDaddy and I were driving home from a play this weekend and were discussing (for reasons I will not go into here) the delicate balance between overprotecting children and shielding them from ideas/topics/images/etc. that are inappropriate for their age. The topic of modesty (a dangerous word, that, and one that is hotly debated on the mommyblogs) came up, and I was discussing the problem of women being told that they are the ones responsible for men's "straying/sinful thoughts" in reaction to what they wear. I mentioned that I truly enjoy dressing in a way that makes me feel attractive and even sexy, and I don't feel that if a man gets all heated up over it that it is my fault that he has a dirty mind. However, I do not believe that I dress in a way that shows a lack of respect for myself or that is "slutty." For example, I said, I don't wear tops that show cleavage "down to here" (pointing midway down my torso).

ComputerDaddy glanced over at me, grinned, and said, "If you want to show cleavage, you HAVE to wear tops that go down to there."

Thank you, honey. Thank you for that.

Breasts and thighs. What am I, a chicken?