I love a good confession. Most especially if it’s not me making it.
If someone tells me they want, or better yet, need to confess something I’m all ears. As in immediately the confession will take precedence over anything else I’m doing.
I’ve pulled my car over on the side of the road to hear a confession so I could give it my full attention. Who wants to worry about turn signals and changing lanes when someone is sharing shocking news.
Of course, not all confessions are life shattering but they’re usually a bit juicy. As in there’s at least one thing that’s going to make you raise your eyebrows a bit or even laugh.
I enjoy a low impact confession the best. Something that’s eye opening and yet has little to no consequences for the confessor.
I made one of these low impact confessions to my daughter last week. I was doing something that might freak her out a bit which led me to feeling a tad sneaky and guilty.
Now don’t worry I’m not a tease. I would never talk about a confession and then not tell you. Also, I feel like I need a public rebuking as punishment for my foolishness.
For background you need to know that my daughter is 24 years old. She’s been dating a delightful young man for a couple of years. He even spent a week with us over the Christmas holidays and my husband and I still really liked him after a week.
This is seriously a minor miracle because I don’t even like my own kids after a week of togetherness.
The major piece of information you need to know is that they’re not engaged. My daughter has even expressed that she’s not ready to be engaged.
Yet, this entire month I have been voraciously shopping for a mother of the bride dress. Yes, you read that right.
In defense of my actions, I must explain that as a general rule mother of the bride dresses are monstrosities of evil. They’re either horrifying matronly or weirdly sexy.
The “sexy” dresses are all sleeveless with a plunging neckline that’s inviting way too much overt cleavage to the party, and there’s usually a slit in the dress that makes wearing underwear a bit of a predicament.
What makes these dresses “weirdly” sexy is that the fabric of the dresses conjures up images of a great granny’s sofa. Think creepy floral brocade meets Victoria’s Secret.
The matronly dresses, without fail, look like taffeta horse blankets with ruffles or worse ruffles with sequin encrusted belts. A part of me has to resist whinnying when I look at them.
Then there’s what I’m going to call the house coat dresses. They’re primarily satin, in gloomy colors, usually with a few sparkly buttons that only serve to highlight the painful despair of the dress. There’s absolutely no aspect of these shapeless, sad, gowns that say, “I want you to feel pretty today.”
The way I see it, I’m going to need a couple of years to find a great dress so time’s a-wastin’.
When I confessed all this to my daughter she thankfully laughed and then asked, “Okay Mom, but are you buying any dresses?”
To that I said, “no comment.” I have a strict one confession a day policy.
❤️ 🩷 ❤️
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Snarky in the Suburbs 