Yesterday Doug and I both had the day off.  We had a few things to return post-Christmas, some gift cards to possibly use, and items like Champagne and such to pick up for New Year's Eve.  He had bought me a beautiful outfit from White House Black Market, one of my favorite stores.  I loved the clothes, but the jacket was a bit too short for this ginormously long waisted gal!  It's a little pricey there probably due to the fact that it's a full service boutique.  Which means, much like days of old where they pumped your gas for you, this store picks out things they think you would look good in and places them in a dressing room for you.  That freaked me out a bit.  It's not that I don't like them swooning over me (ok maybe back off just a little).  It's that they don't know me.  They don't know my scaled down and fairly simplistic but clean lines classic sort of dressing.  They don't know that I absolutely HATE patterned material or things made from that drapey material that reminds me of the blouses my Grandma June used to wear.  I picked a couple of things to try on and the woman took me to the dressing room they had started for me.  It was crammed with clothing she had picked out for me.  Some of the clothes were paired with pants or the like.  I thanked her as she must have seen the look on my face of fright.  "Just try them.  You may be surprised at how you look in them." she said.  I have a deep aversion, an allergicness almost to jeans with very decoratively stitched back pockets.  I won't wear them on a bus, in a plane, on a train, in a mall, or in a dressing room!  I pushed them aside.  Never ever will you find me in a furry vest or anything that has even a splattering of furrishness adorning it.  I am not Eva Gabor!  I don't care for red and there were two red shirts hanging there.  I by-passed those as well.  There was some sort of white sweater with a hint of gold thread in it.  Not in a million years would I put that on and feel like myself in it.  It left very little for me to try on.  I reached for the only two things that I thought I might try; a long dressy jacket (black) that was very fitted but fell mid thigh and a bustier to go with it that was black and white.  Ok, even to say the word bustier makes me laugh as I have the upper body of a 12 year old.  Breast size of a 32a.  I ain't got much busting off my chest to hold up a strapless anything.  But, I tried it on.  It was a bit tight unless I didn't care so much for regular breathing any longer. It fell above my low waisted jeans leaving a 1 inch gap!  I laughed in the dressing room at why in the hell a 45 year old woman would be wearing this and to where I would wear it.  Slipping on the long coat over it, I looked in the mirror.  I kind of liked it.  My uncomfortableness with it though was equal to my like of it. Opening the curtain I stepped out to show Doug, who was sitting in a big soft chair like a judge on American Idol.  His eyes popped as he told me how great I looked in it.  It was much like when he took me to buy me a diamond ring when we got married.  I hadn't worn a ring in 20 years.  I was so uncomfortable when the sales lady put this big diamond on me I actually made a face and squirmed uneasily.  The boutique lady came to weigh into how I looked in the outfit.  Now, don't get me wrong I love a compliment, but is she really going to say anything other than, "You look great in that.  Beautiful!"  I tugged and pulled that bustier down to meet my pants feeling self-conscious.  Both she and Doug tried to ease my worry of my age in that outfit.  I said, "Well, if I reach for anything I will show my stomach.  Does anyone really want or need to see that on a 45 year old woman?"  Doug said if it looked as good as mine that he did.  The boutique lady said she is 52 and wears them (ugh).  I asked Doug where in the hell I would ever wear this.  He came up with a myriad of places and reasons.  He told me Hannah, my daughter, would say I looked great in it and to buy it.  After securing a better size for the bustier and the boutique lady showing me where the optional straps were attached, I exchanged it for what Doug had gotten me for Christmas.  I loved the outfit and when Doug asked why I ended getting it if it was so different from what I would wear I said, "My whole life is different than it was.  Time to branch out!"  I love that man!!  Do they make onesies for 45 year old women I wondered?  I would feel more comfortable with my stomach totally covered when I reach for an item at the grocery store on the top shelf!