So, this was one of those days when nothing seemed to work. The baby woke up too early. I came down with a cold while still recovering from a previous one. My son threw himself off the couch, nearly getting a concussion for his trouble. And it rained all day. Seriously, it looked like this all day:

This would have barely warranted a mention, except it happened to be the day of the boy’s year-end playground party at his daycare program. Thankfully, we didn’t get completely rained out, but the weather did put a damper – literally – on the fun.

It also messed with my outfit plans. I was stoked to show you guys a black, white, and grey outfit (so chic! so restrained!), but I had to concede defeat and throw on the stupid vest. And swap out my cute, black ballerina flats for Chucks. Gah! My thought had been to wear something practical – being around a gaggle of pre-schoolers and toddlers kind of mandates that – but still put-together – the latter for the sake of my kid’s social life, really. I mean, no one wants to be the kid with the sloppy, awkward mother, right? If his future (play-date calendar) success depends on it, I can fake it with the best of them.

If only the rain didn’t cramp my style.

*Note: keeping the mini-remix theme going, this makes it 3 in a row for this top. I promise I stop now.

I won’t lie: finding these AG Stevie cords at a consignment store was extremely gratifying. I luuuuurve these pants, but I just can’t bring myself to pay what Anthropologie wants me to pay for them. This is why second-hand shopping is da bomb – I can eat my cake, and not rue the calories. (Or, you know, buy the pants and not bust my budget. #analogyfail) Red pants might not seem like the wisest wardrobe investment, but they can make an outfit when mixed with a simple colour palette or, better yet, stripes. Red + stripes = always a classic.

And here’s another style epiphany: I think I might just feel more comfortable in streamlined, simple-verging-on-boring outfits like this one. Yes, your erstwhile magpie, lover-of-all-grandma-floral-prints, accessory addict just wrote that. Can you believe it? Perhaps in my dotage I can finally give those Frenchwomen a run for their minimalist chic money.

Better late than never.

Note: I just realized that I posted back-to-back outfits featuring the same top. Not my intention, you guys. I’m pretty sure I didn’t wear this top on consecutive days, but anything’s possible. Let’s call this one a … mini remix challenge. Yeah, let’s go with that.

Stop. The. Presses.

I am wearing shorts. I repeat, I am wearing shorts. Oh-em-gee.

I haven’t worn shorts since I hit puberty. Well, more like crashed and burned into it. Anyway. The reasons I stopped wearing shorts then are not the same reasons why I haven’t worn them in the past few years. My list of insecurities has shrunk significantly in the interim. Cellulite is … intermittently one of them, but I actually have to work at getting worked up about it. I’ve got bigger effing problems.

I’m pasty.* That is the most “duh” statement I have probably ever made on this blog, but yeah. I’m pasty and I can’t be arsed to pretend otherwise. (Especially since my previous attempt to do something about it backfired in a spectacular manner.) Since I refuse to roll around in Cheetos dust to avoid offending the sensibilities of people irrationally revolted by pasty skin – who are inexplicably legion, but let’s not even start – I try to accommodate them by doing the next best thing. Hiding the pasty. (Not an euphemism.)

And, until two weeks ago, that meant no shorts.

But then, recently, some of my internet friends* took to wearing shorts (naturally – it’s summer, and they’re not neurotic basket cases like me), and I felt like it was perhaps time to revisit the whole ban on shorts. Fran’s post was the final push and here we are.

Actually, the “shorts” I ended up buying – on a whim, at the grocery store, because that’s how I roll – are sleepwear. Yep, I wore pyjama bottoms. Out and about. In public. In a completely unironic way. Pause for a minute and let that sink in. But, also, once the second-hand embarrassment wears off, don’t forsake me. What is one questionable life choice among friends*?

* I was telling my mom about the shorts, and she reminded me of the time I was traveling in Europe, and this Italian guy said I looked like mozzarella. I mean, I don’t think he was trying to be unkind, but … damn.
* You refer to your favourite bloggers as “friends” too, right? Right?!