The Book of Mor-Clothes-On

What makes you feel sexy?  Is it showing off your legs? Givin’ your (bare) back to the world?  Wearing something so tight it looks like it came from Catwoman’s closet?  Or maybe you want to keep it old school and display some daring décolletage?

What about doing all of them at the same time?

Normally for a night on the town, I try to keep it simple; show some leg, cover the top, show some top, cover the legs.  And as far as fitting, I have begun to shy away from tight tube dresses made of Lycra and gravitate instead towards more flowy and forgiving fabrics.  I have gotten to the age where these rules are especially important so as to avoid looking like the dreaded “thirty-something still desperately trying to compete with a twenty-something”.

Of course, like every good rule, there are occasions that make me want to bend them, but be assured.  The harder I bend those rules, the harder it tends to come back and slap me right in my ascot.

Take this, for example.

Last week, I wrote about the memorable Valentine’s Day weekend that Joe gave me.  I mentioned that he had patiently and graciously allowed me to shop for an outfit (that I didn’t end up wearing) to wear at the casino (which we didn’t get to till the next morning). 

I had spotted a snazzy little gold sparkly dress out of the corner of my eye at one store, and after briefly trying it on (despite layers of flavored yellow and blue dust on my skin) I fell in love with it. 

It was low but still had straps.  It was short but I know Joe likes to see my legs. 

And it was tight.  But, since I was still riding the high of completing my first 5K in a while, I was feeling pretty OK and told myself I could still rock it like any of the teens and twenties in the store. 

I purchased it and looked forward to dolling myself up for a night at the casino….of course, we all know what became of that.  But I had a second chance coming the following weekend.

Joe surprised me with tickets to see The Book of Mormon at the Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater for Christmas and it just so happened that the show was the weekend after Valentine’s Day.  Joe booked a hotel (for real) and I lovingly packed up my would-be casino dress and shoes, excited to finally break them out.

That night, as we busily got ready, I started putting the dress on and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. 

Hmmm, I thought, was it really this short when I bought it?  Jeez, that neckline is actually pretty low…God, what the hell is that bulge?  I’m not eating ever again…

As I knit-picked the hell out of my appearance, Joe went downstairs to wait for me.  Panicking that I had made a huge mistake, I suddenly remembered I had brought a little blazer with me and threw it on to see if it made a difference.  My shoulders were now covered and my chest not nearly as risqué, but there was a different problem.  The blazer looked stupid with the dress.  I looked like a hooker on her way to a business luncheon. 

Out of time and Joe nearly out of patience, I ran down to meet him in the hotel lobby.  He simply shook his head with defeat. 

“What is that?” he asked, referring to the blazer.  I tried to hide the fact that I was covering up because I felt too self-conscious and instead try to play it off as if I was just cold.  He easily saw through that and encouraged me to ditch the blazer and just “rock it.”

I hemmed and hawed all the way to the theater, still feeling a little too exposed but afraid of annoying Joe by being silly.  As we arrived at the theater I tried to catch a glimpse of what other women were wearing.  Most were wearing tasteful slacks or simple, chaste dresses.  I gulped.

“Tell you what,” Joe offered, “if you get too cold or feel uncomfortable, I’ll give you MY blazer.”

I agreed to his terms and took a deep breath before stepping out of the car.  As we were walking to the entrance, acting as cool and confident as possible, we were stopped.

“Would you like to have your picture taken with actual Mormons?” a sweetly innocent young man asked.  Thinking they were actually actors hired as a publicity stunt for the show, Joe and I posed with the two guys, holding up copies of the actual Book of Mormon. 

When I went to hand the book back, he said, “Oh you can actually keep that.  In fact, if you have a minute, I’d like to tell you about the Book of Mormon.”  I thanked him before he could continue further than that.

As we entered the theater, my eyes continued to scan for like-dressed women to make me feel more at ease.  At last I did spot one girl who was wearing a rather sexy little dress.  Sure, she was about ten years (and more than ten pounds) less than I was, but still!  I managed to relax a little bit as we found our seats.

That is, until intermission. 

We all stood up and I decided to make my way to the ladies room.  Not surprisingly, a long line had already formed so I simply stood and waited with dozens of other women.

As I stood there, I began observing what all these other ladies were wearing.  Again, I saw lots of casual sweaters mixed with elegant dresses, but alas, not another skimpily clad lady in the bunch.  It was then that my resolve quickly melted, and I began trying to find ways to make myself less noticeable.  I began cursing myself for not bringing my blazer or even my big purse to hide behind.  All I could do was wait for my turn in the bathroom and hope I was just blowing this whole thing out of proportion.

I avoided my reflection until I was washing my hands and then I looked to assess my situation.  The sexy little dress I had bought for the intention of a casino now appeared cheap and slutty.  The neckline dipped so low, I was afraid to lean over too far while washing my hands.  And yet every time I moved I felt the dress drift slightly higher, so I tried to casually pull it down without making it look like I was as uncomfortable as I was.

I hurried out of the bathroom, seeking out Joe and his blessed blazer.  He begrudgingly handed it over to me and I realized with mixed emotion that it completely covered me.  So now my dress was hidden, but now I looked like a flasher.

I sighed with the loss of my own good intentions going awry and walked with Joe back to the car.  I wondered how some women are able to pull off any look at any age, and yet for many of us we feel we must contain our “sexiness” to only certain types of clothing to be worn at only certain special occasions.  And what of the age-old mantra of sexiness coming from a place within, shining through even as we wear baggy sweatpants or t-shirts?  Is there any truth to that, especially in the eyes of our significant others or love interests for whom we want to show off our sex appeal?

It made me wonder- what do you wear (or not wear) when you want to feel sexy?  Such deep, philosophical questions…maybe I should consult the Book of Mormon.  I hear it has a lot of answers.