“Oh no, but I don’t dance.” I protested. “Not unless it’s with my kids in the kitchen for dance party with my ladle as mah microphone. Or, if I’ve had a few cocktails.” (Or revisiting my Solid Gold glory days when I’m alone in the house.)

I said it. I meant it. I walk through life tripping over my own feet.

I was sober. I was over 1000 miles away from my kids. On a break during the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. (Writers! Not dancers!)

But The Bearded Iris? She’s persuasive. I think the might have slipped something into my mystery lunch that day….because she got me to dance.

“Fine!” I relented. “Who’ll see it anyway?”

It’s on video. Which is now on her blog. And on you tube.

Probably no one thousands will see it.

We’ve talked about Bearded Iris before. She’s one of the funniest peeps I know, in writing and in person. And she made the video, which also stars members of her fam including her 5 year old son, Bucket Head, who steals the show at the end of the video (If you don’t laugh at his dancing you have no soul!) as part of a blogging dance challenge called…. #BloggersDance. I think it has something to do with bloggers dancing. I dunno.

My kids have made me play this video 763 times since they first saw it. I’m not kidding. They have been literally crying laughing while watching it every day since Bearded Iris first posted it on her blog last week.

So I’m sharing it. Mainly because I think we all need a laugh I need a fashion intervention please note my subtle cry for help.

Will ya please get a load of my choice of shirt—after last weeks shirt, you can see this is a legit fashion emergency, yes? Seems like the hubs is off the hook for letting me out in my psychadelic frock to meet Seth Meyers last week. The truth is out: I can’t dress myself. Look what I wore in the video? (Even my white undershirt/camisole/whatever it’s called is hanging below my shirt! Because it wasn’t disaster enough on its own!) I’m the one *cries inside* who looks like a realtor from Boca. (“Hi Bitsy, it’s Mitsy. Oh my Gawd, I have a fabbbbulous 3/2 right by the beach. It’s to DIE fowwwah! Cawl me!” )Or a cruise ship passenger from  small town East Asshat, Nowhereville, lettin’ it all hang out somewhere in the Caribbean, thinking, “Wahooie! No one knows me HERE!” after drowning in generic umbrella drinks.

Where are Stacey and Clinton and why haven’t they answered my desperate pleas? I’ve blogged about this here!!! We need a campaign: Dress me up, Muffin Top. I should not be allowed to shop alone or dress myself. The only good news is The Bearded Iris thinks I can seriously make some dough making faces for a living. I’ll see what you guys think about that. I’m thinking the face making biz isn’t too great after about the third grade, but maybe you know a guy who know’s a guy? I’m still waiting to hear from Lorne Michaels after my last blog post about Seth Meyers. I know he’ll reach out any minute now when muffin tops fly.

Also? A round of applause for the other dancers, including the star of the vid, Bearded Iris. And, my blogging sister from another Mister, Dawn from Lighten Up! Dawn and I both love domestic beer in a can (She’s the Miller to my Bud…hey, no one’s perfect. The Laverne to my Shirley. And the Faded Glory to my Merona. If you understand a word of this, you know we get along alllll right. She took the pic of me with the Bombecks and I actually had my eyes open!) You need to check out her hilarious blog. And tell her you’re sorry my fig bat head blocked her cute blonde self out of a lot of the video. Then there’s Suniverse. She is one sassy, saucy, sarcastic mama. She is ALL the best s words rolled into one and she let’s it rip on her blog, Suniverse. You won’t see her face because she’s sooo ripping it up s style that she blogs anonymously. I seriously don’t know her real name. If someone takes me in a dark room and threatens me with bodily harm threatens to take away all my beer forever I swear I.don’t.know.her.name. I just know she’s a howl and you can visit her blog here.

You know something? The Bearded Iris was right though. Dancing does make you feel good—because if you dance like me, you laugh so hard you really do cry.  And no smarty pants doctor can prescribe anything better than that!

(Because I’m remedial techno tornado, no clue how to get the you tube video to show up in a box. Just click the text link below and it will take you there and not to your Nigerian lottery winnings, I swear!)

watch?v=b9XgYnZbEL4&feature=plcp

 I try to look my best. I do. We all have our days, but I’m trying not to morph into the schlumpy housewife.

Oh don’t you look away—you know what (or who) I’m talkin’ about.

DONCHA WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS HAWT LIKE ME-HEEE?

I don’t get out enough, so when I do, the outfit choice hangs in the balance. It’s like I know it’s lurking but I’m too scared to confront it. It isn’t challenging enough I need to go shopping with the muffin top in tow, but everything seems to be made so wrongly form fitting lately. Of course I want to be stylish, but I’d just rather keep my back fat to myself.

You’re welcome.

Skinny jeans? Surely you jest, clothing designers. Those will only highlight the depth and breadth of my fig, bat, arse! And really? I don’t give a flying tuck if I’m not in style on that one. Short sleeved sweaters? How does that help me when it’s 5 degrees in New Hampshire? Not saying I’m going to go all plaid flannel on your ass, but honestly? I want some sleeves with my sweater. Is that too much to ask? Granted, I know there’s a way to wear said short sleeve sweaters with long sleeve shirts or something, but frankly, that sounds way too complicated.

 With most of my friends married off, I’ve few weddings to attend anymore and my social standing is decidedly bourgeois. (What can I say? When trips to Tarjay are your biggest social outlet some weeks and your idea of a high heel shoe is a clog—the writing is so on the wall.)

 With me at home in my mommy uni most days (Jeans or khakis, and if it’s warm, shorts. Insert sweater or tee, flip flops or shoes. Rinse, repeat.), it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stay in the loop. And, I’m sorry to have to tell you, I’ve found myself out in public before, gazing down at my shoe and realizing there’s puke on it. That’s a fashion statement I’m really not proud to make. (God, I hope my son, “Sir Pukes A Lot”, outgrows this unfortunate stage.)

 I’ve come to realize I pretty much have no idea what’s in style when it comes to a night out that’s anywhere fancier than a nice restaurant. (NICE restaurant. Remember? Any  dining venue more high end than one that gives out free crayons and coloring pages?) I know. It is sad, isn’t it? Bad restaurants DO happen to good people!

STACEY AND CLINTON...DON'T LOOK AT ME THAT WAY! THIS IS A CRY FOR HELP. CALL ME!!

 In a panic a few hours before a special event the other day, I called my friend who’s a stylish working mom and attends a lot of fancy pants functions, with a legitimate fashion emergency. I thought I had everything figured out, even down to the last earring and muffin top restrictor undergarment (gah!), when I suddenly found myself second guessing my fashion sense in the few hours leading up to my big night out.

 “Hey, what’s up, J?” she inquired. “I’m about to head into a meeting. You all set for tonight?”

      “PANTYHOSEARENOTINARETHEY?!” I blurted in a panic.

      “Wait, what? Did you just ask me something about pantyhose?”

     “I was planning on wearing no hose and open toed shoes tonight! I just want to double check with you since my version of dressing up these days is dark jeans with boots!” Wait. Dark jeans ARE still in, right?

      “Well….first off, I definitely would never wear hose with open toed shoes!”

      “I know THAT,” I shrieked, “But hose…they’re not in, right?”

      “Well, I think this time of year, since its cooler and people are pale, then yeah, I would actually wear hose.”

      Oh, what the duck?!?!?! Deep down, I know hose make sense.As the female version of Caspar, I could really make a splash sans hose! It’s too late for self tanner, and anyway, the last time I tried using it, I looked like I walked off the set of Jersey Shore. Holla you hatah!

      “Shoot! You would? Really? You’re sure? Because I just tried my closed toe shoes on and I guess they’re from pre babies because they don’t even fit me! They’re too small! So now I have to run out and get new shoes because the open toe ones I have I think are too short for a dress, so I guess I can pick up some hose then. So now I need shoes and hose!”(Those gremlins actually even made my feet grow more than a whole size! Tell me WHY that happens. I was not pregnant in my fricking feet! And I had a LOT of great shoes pre babies. I have unresolved pregnancy foot anger as a result. The whole “losing my entire shoe collection” was 100 times more painful to me than unsightly stretch marks or being unable to sit comfortably after labor for weeks—and I had one that was almost 10 pounds. *Cough* them are some bragging rights!)

      “Yeah, I would wear hose—for sure. But listen, I have to run. Have fun tonight!”

      “Thanks. I will. I think?” I said, imagining still going hoseless, and everyone pointing at my legs and staring….did you see Janet? Her translucent legs blinded me in one eye! Can I sue for that?

      So what do I do? Naturally, solicit opinions from five other women, who give me—you guessed it—five distinct yet very passionate answers, ranging from, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in hose ever” to “maybe if it’s the dead of winter” to “yes, I would wear hose but wear sheer black only”.

      Oy. The only thing everyone agreed on was absolutely, positively NO NUDE.

     Honestly, I’ve heard people talk less passionately about politics and religion than pantyhose. We’re gonna have to change that social rule from “Don’t talk about politics and religion in polite conversation” to “Don’t talk about religion, politics or pantyhose in polite conversation!”

      And one of my friends—wouldn’t even answer me.

      “You’re asking ME? I went to Macy’s last week and was confused because I saw there were leggings for sale!”

      “OMG! I know—ME too! And I tried on what I thought were dresses and got all flustered!

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, I saw these adorable dresses so I tried some on. They were all WAY above my knee and I remember thinking, that’s weird these dresses are so short, and then I saw all the leggings and I think they were supposed to be worn with them? Or not? Point is, I really don’t know. All I know is they were so short and I needed something to wear to a Christening and I just didn’t think the Lord would have appreciated me flashing so much leg around God’s house! And frankly, I didn’t think the padre would be impressed either.” However, had I known the padre would have been young, fun, and sporting a black tuxedo tee shirt under his vestments and Teva sandals, I just might have taken my chances! Who knew?

      “Good point. So what’d you end up getting?”

      “That’s just it. I got all flustered and left—I didn’t know if they were short dresses, long shirts or what! Not to mention, the pants are all so long because I think we’re supposed to be wearing these gigantically tall heels, which is so NOT going to happen because you know I most assuredly will fall on my head and then who will be a mother to my children!? So what I think are dresses are way too short and the pants I want are way too long. And, it’s 75 out and people are wearing scarves around their necks. What is that about? Just kill me now.”

      “You know what this means, right?”

      “We’re so out of style we don’t even know what the style is?”