Better than Sex

Hubs and I had a kid-free few hours last night. This has only happened twice since KyKy was born five and a half months ago so it was long overdue. We had planned on some *ahem* naughty, naughty things and then heading over to Dave and Buster's. We had to pick the boys up around 11:00 so there wasn't really time to go out go out.

I was putting on my makeup --blissfully, I might add, without a two-year-old grabbing my lipstick to color on his feet with and without a five month old wailing because I wasn't paying enough attention to him. It sort of hit me, "This would be the perfect time to try on clothes."

Have you ever tried to try on clothes with two little bitty ones? I can think of, oh, five or six thousand forms of torture that it doesn't even begin to compare to. From trying to maneuver the stroller into the tiny little room to attempting to keep a toddler from flinging the door open when you have a pair of pants situated somewhere around your ankles . . . se-ooooo.not.fun.

So instead of Dave and Busters, we headed shopping.

We hit the racks with our Vegas trip in mind and Hubs kept handing me clothes, "Here try this on." Ocassionally I would glance at a label and my eyes would bug out at the size, "I can't wear this! Holy crap, babe, this is a size six!" Sheesh. Men.

My arms were full of dresses and dress pants and all kinds of cutesy things as I made my way to the dressing room.

Can I just say that I no longer hate dressing rooms? No, really. It's the truth. I don't even mind the three way mirrors. In fact, I probably spent a little much time checking myself out in the so-not-me-it-ain't-eeeeven-funny dress I bought to wear for our night in Hollywood. I do believe I was even humming a few bars of Carly Simon's "You're so Vain" to myself.

Anyhow.

I tried on a pair of pants and went out to show Hubs how they looked. They fit -- they fit very well in fact. I decided not to get them because they had a weird darting in the front. But, still, they fit.

And when I looked at the tag, I almost fainted. I seriously thought I was going to hyperventilate right then and there in the dressing room.

They were a size six!

Sweet Baby Jesus!

Sure, they may have been made a little larger than most size sixes. Or, heck, maybe they were mis-sized. But I'm not going to think that way and let anything take away from this moment.

I put a pair of size six pants on my body!

And that, my friends, is better than sex.

Know what else is better than sex?

Having a suit with this tag hanging in your closet:

It's not a six, but it's a single digit clothing size. Something I have not owned since, hmmm, 1997-ish?

It's a suit. Do I need a suit? No. But it looked so kick ass on me that, I swear to Moses, I will wear that thing to do the dishes in!