My husband is really good at his job. I only kinda know what he does because it’s quite technical, but I know that it’s important and that he’s good at it. Case in point: He recently won a big engineering award and his company flew us out to Phoenix & put us up in a swanky resort for the weekend so we could attend an elegant awards banquet.

When he told me about his award and the banquet that went along with it, he told me to “go out and buy a fancy dress.”

This was both exciting and nerve-wracking.

First, I don’t often wear dresses, and when I do, they’re typically long and fairly casual. “Fancy” dresses are completely out of my comfort zone. Second, this was also clearly going to be an extravagant event, filled with a bunch of big wigs and incredibly smart people who work at my husband’s company, as well as their wives (all of whom I imagined to be Perfect Tens). I was a bit nervous about the whole thing, but obviously, immensely proud of my husband, and therefore wanted to look my best and turn on the charm to the best of my ability.

Dress Shopping

I went to the mall by myself with a general idea about the style of dress I’d get: Something classy and a little sexy, but nothing over the top or too ‘loud’ since this is a work event. I made a bee-line for White House | Black Market; for some reason, I felt like they would have the right dress, even though I had never shopped there before.

I went in, browsed everything, and found nothing. I was about to leave when one of the salespeople asked if she could help me find something. I hesitated for a minute (usually I don’t let salespeople help me find clothes) but then figured I probably could use some help. I told her what I was shopping for and she took me around the store again.

She pointed out a number of dresses that she thought would look good on me, and I did my best to have an open mind. I only said no to a few while they were still on the hanger. For most of what she suggested, I told her I’d give it a try. One of the first ones she pointed seemed promising, but they only had two of them in stock: Sizes 10 and 2. I’m a size 12, but she said I should try it anyway.

I got to the dressing room and started trying them on – 5 or 6 in total. I really liked the first; she did too, but her fondness for that one waned as I tried on the rest, whereas at the end, it was still my second favorite. Some of them were awful – they just didn’t flatter me at all. She did a lot of accessorizing (which I basically know nothing about) and that improved some of them, but not enough. I ended up buying one that I never would have looked twice at – and definitely never would have tried on – without the urging of the saleswoman. (I guess they’re not all bad.) AND the one I bought was the size 10! I didn’t even notice it was smaller than the rest until I was paying. I thought for sure when I got to the 10 in the stack of 12′s I’d notice the difference, but nope!

Incidentally, that’s me in the winning dress in the top corner of the blog – the new ‘during’ photo. Nice, right?

The Banquet

As I said, I was nervous about the event itself, too – though it was lessened since I had a dress I felt would help me fit in better. There was a cocktail hour, followed by dinner and an awards presentation. I knew 1 person (besides my husband), and I only knew him a little, so it was all about small talk and mingling.

I got all dolled up*, gave myself a pep talk, and walked down to the courtyard on my husband’s arm. I figured that as long as I didn’t embarrass him, all would be well.

I don’t think I embarrassed him – at least he didn’t seem embarrassed. This is going to sound awful, but the wives weren’t quite how I had pictured them. They were just… normal women. For some reason, I elevated these wives in my mind to the level of a Botticelli’s Angel or something. While they were all lovely, they were just normal, real women. After talking to them (and drinking some wine), I started to feel more comfortable and relaxed a bit, and then I was actually able to enjoy myself! It was a good night – very successful.

And my husband really did call me his “trophy wife.”

I love him.

*This is how bad I am at über-womanly things: I had a strapless dress and no strapless bra. Whoops! Thank you Target!

After my mini-vacation, I eased my way out of my food coma and back into physical activity with my Monday night Hip Hop class.

I was having a great time, even though after the first 20 minutes I was completely lost and had a hard time keeping up. I have to say, I’m a little surprised at how utterly terrible I am at hip hop. I’m not delusional or anything – I didn’t think I’d be great – but I have rhythm from playing various musical instruments in my day, and I have pretty good balance and coordination (now) thanks to Kung Fu, so I thought I’d be better than I am. Oh well. Moving on…

One of the moves in the routine we were taught last night involved this sort of ‘squat thrust’, but you know, with swag. I did it a few times without issue, and then as we were running through it again with about 10 minutes left in class, my pants split.

That’s right: Once again, I split my damn pants in front of a room full of people.

To be more accurate, they were shorts. Long, black shorts. And I was wearing light pink underwear – not black on black like the last time, unfortunately. Also, this split was not in the crotch, but in the ass. When I eventually got home and surveyed the damage, I found a split about 6 inches long from top to bottom right along the seam, and then another 4 inches across in the middle. Very weird. Very huge.

Ok, so at the end of the routine, everyone goes into their squat, and I hear &  feel my pants split and immediately stand back up. Thankfully, I’m in the back of the room, so I don’t think anyone saw what happened. Of course, they all saw me standing while they were on the floor… and then they saw me quickly tell my friend what happened and run from the room… sideways.

I changed my shoes and left in a hurry. A quick reprieve in the elevator allowed me to get a feel for how extensive the damage was, and I could tell it was bad. I then left the building and walked (ran!) the 2 blocks to my car holding my purse behind my back. I’m so sly…

Embarrassing? Yes, of course. But here’s the amazing difference between this event and the last: Even though it would be easy for me to get upset and blame myself for my vacation gluttony, I didn’t think that for a second. I simply blamed the pants for being old and worn out. I was embarrassed because my ass was hanging out, but not because I have a fat ass. Big difference.

The changes in my attitude and self confidence (and, of course, the size of my ass) in the last few years are amazing. And events like this only serve to solidify that fact, rather than send me on a downward spiral.

Of course, now I need some new long shorts that are workout appropriate… and reinforced in the buttocks so as to contain all my swagger.

It’s almost midnight on the eve of my first double-digit run. I have to leave my parent’s house (where I’m staying this weekend) at 8:30am to meet Friend #1 at her place. We’ll then drive to M-Cat’s house and set out on our 10-mile run from there: Five out, five back. All flat. Or so I’m told, at least…

I’m actually looking forward to this! I’m nervous, of course, but I’m reasonably confident I’ll be able to keep up with my friends. I believe I’ll have the advantage since I’ve been training on hills and this place is flat. Suckers :)

I feel like a kid the night before the first day of school. So much excitement and anxiety. Who knows what the day will bring?! I should be sleeping, but my goosebumps are keeping me awake.

Details tomorrow. Wish me luck!