I am not Ms.Fashionality opting for function over form, nine times out of ten. My favorite shopping spots are LL Bean, Lands End and the clearance racks at Talbot’s. In my best attempt to keep my kids out of therapy, I read all the books and learned never to criticize their weight, hair or clothing. Apparently they never read their version of the same books.
One day, descending the escalator at the Bay, I eyed the most perfect hot pink silk outfit, just right for my daughter’s prom. In our part of Canada, the prom is a family affair, attended by graduates, dates and parents. I brought it home to have it nixed by every member of the house.
I heard four versions of "You are NOT wearing that are you?"
"This is not the problem of a single woman," I grumbled as I exchanged it for the royal blue version.
Recently my husband declared, in a not so diplomatic way, his disdain of one of my tried and true articles of clothing. He told me I needed to throw it out. I told him I was saving it for my next husband. Over Christmas, both my daughters were home. I asked each on for their honest opinion of said item. It’s not bad, Mom, said elder daughter, but I didn’t like that top you wore last night. It’s OK said the younger one, but where did you get those pants you wore last night? What am I supposed to do? The younger piped up that her friend’s parents are not allowed to go clothes shopping by themselves. When I get back to work I’m calling my employee assistance program. I need therapy.
I am not alone! I just read Super Eggplant’s post about her new dress, described by her husband as looking like something a polygamist’s wife might wear.
Realizing I never posted photos of my cousin’s scarf, here it is, already mailed off, delivered and worn:
Life's a Stitch 
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