But I don’t want to be this gal:
Or this one:
I want to be her:
But, here was a conversation that took place, just today:
“What are you wearing to the wedding?”
“I don’t know, seems like every wedding I go to, the standard uniform for the gals is dress, cowboy boots, jean jacket.”
Well, shitdamn, I don’t want to be wearing some “We think we are such cute western girls, even though we’re from Connecticut and have never stepped in actual cow shit,” uniform.
Because, I’m not that girl. Can’t be.
I’m from New Jersey.
And I am just as cool as my girl, Emmylou.
In my head.
I bought this gorgeous dress a while back, thinking it would be perfect for the wedding and it’s green which MCB really likes which makes it even more perfect. I started thinking about what I could wear on my feet that would accommodate all of the needs of the event: standing, dancing, walking on grass, all, for hours on end.
I’ll just throw on my boots – easy. Don’t need to give it another thought.
But now I do because the cliché has been noted; using an out-loud voice.
If I wear the boots and the dress, even without a jean jacket since I don’t own one, I will a) be that gal, just like every other gal there, and b) doing so with everyone knowing that I am fully aware of being the wannabe cowgirl who grew up listening to Bruce Springsteen and Tom Waits, not Ricky Skaggs and Patty Loveless.
So, maybe I could go with these:
I am from Jersey after all.
Or, since I am an “Outdoorsy” type, perhaps these will be better:
Or my inner athlete could go here:
I have 45 hours to decide.
I refuse to buy anything new.
And I am convinced that whatever I chose to wear, it will steal the spotlight from the bride and in the years to come, people will look back and relive the moment they saw my ill-shoed feet instead of her Vera Wang gown.