I’ve never been what you would call a “fashion plate,” but more of a “fashion emergency.”

Once I find a shirt or skirt or bottoms I like, I buy them in every color available. My favorite? $4 Old Navy Weekly Specials that wear out before the end of the season. bee tee dub… I’m wearing one right now that’s already pilled and scratching my arms.

Dead sexy.

For nearly every outfit I wear, I can bet you can purchase for less than $30 TOTAL.

Dead classy.

Sure, you can dress me up and take me somewhere pretty every once in a while, but that takes major planning and shoe pile digging and earring dusting.

Dead messy.

The following was picked out of the limited pictures I have of myself.
Same. Same. Same: khaki bottoms, solid shirt.

There are special times when I think I look better than my normal pink hair-dye-stained Obama ’08 t-shirt, shlubby 2-year-old chino shorts missing one of the buttons, and BRAND! NEW! pink! Crocs. Times with I actually fix my hair, put on actual eye makeup, and find actual nice jewelry to slap on.

My wannabe-turned-actual fashion plate sister is consistently nagging on me to “put on more makeup” and “here, wear this necklace” and “OH MY GOH HOW DO YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE LOOKING SO HORRID*?”

I have, what you might describe as, a precocious, opinionated, moody, 4-going-on-13-year-old little girl.

Apparently, she’s caught on to my failures as a fashion victim survivor.

I was dressed up to go to a friend’s birthday dinner in the bathroom putting lipstick on a pig dressing my eyes, when she came in to show me just how cute she looked in her frilly un-Easter, Easter dress.

That’s when it happened: the rest of my life.

“Mama. You need to wear a dress like mine. You look boring.“

Yes, kid. Yes. I do look boring.

And you, my dear child, have made your auntie very proud.

And and, this is my official application to What Not to Wear.

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*actual quotage

I’m back from my 3-day cruise with my lady-family + the now-adopted-daughter, Your Aunt Becky.

I have no idea how, after spending 3 days doing nothing more than eating, drinking, spa-ing, sunning, and sleeping, I can be so flipping tired. But I am. And you should totally be sorry for me. Or not. AND GET ME A MARGARITA.

Don’t stick around here looking at some of my pictures, including one of a sea turtle.
SEA. TURTLE. In all my years living in Florida (see: 32), I’ve never once seen a Sea Turtle, but as we left for the open Atlantic Ocean from Port Canaveral, we counted nearly 20 swimming just feet from our boat. Insane.

Leave here after you leave me a comment because my self-worth depends on it and read my Aiming Low post about cleaning. It’s so much better than it sounds. I almost promise.

Don’t mind me if I’m a little slow today. I’m ready to go back to doing a lot of this:

Just because I can.

And yes, I did just use a line from Seinfeld about fake vs. real boobs when talking about my children. Shameful.