In the midst of a search for a real winter coat–week 2, still no luck–I found a pretty little black dress, on sale no less. It took exactly 60 seconds of should I or shouldn’t I before I decided I should. Who was I trying to fool anyway?
It’s perfect, just revealing enough to be sexy but not so much it borders slutty. Imagine this dress, but sleeveless. And yes, the neckline is a plunging one.
I tried it on when I got home. I put on the stilettos, and posed in front of the mirror. I began to twirl because I felt pretty. Something, admittedly, I haven’t felt in quite a while.
I work, a lot. I’m an editor, a writer and I sit in front of a computer all day. My job rarely requires me to do more than brush my teeth and get dressed. I rarely wear make up, and only brush my hair if it really needs it. I prefer comfy boots or flip flops over anything else, and if I had enough yoga pants, I’d wear them daily. I’ve basically transformed from a girl who ran events in a dress and heels, to the girl whose friends would probably secretly nominate her to be on an episode of What Not to Wear.
I’ve given in to frumpy. In many ways, I’ve given in to everything I feared about turning 40.
But, as every woman knows, there’s something absolutely magical about finding the perfect little black dress. And as I continued twirling in my dress my head began to spin as I saw a world of possibilities, making this a moment that can only be one that is to be continued…