A few days ago, it arrived in the mail. What’s it you may be asking? My brand new muumuu.
Yes, they call it a tank dress. It’s a house dress. A cover up. A maxi dress. A giant, flowy, gauze-y cotton contraption that drapes over your body like an oversized hippie night gown. Whatever you choose to call it, I call it effing awesome.
Is it sexy? Um, hello?
I owe this all to my girl Tara. Tara said I needed one. Tara is my best friend and has no cause to lie to me. She linked me up. I clicked Yes Please. Two days later, courtesy of Amazon Prime, this baby lands on my doorstep and the middle aged magic ensued.
I posted a question to my Facebook page: Do you muu muu? Turns out, a lot of people do but some people wouldn’t be caught dead in one.
I’m not exactly sure what Dan thinks just yet. I tried to spice it up in my pitch. “You know, SOME women wear nothing at all under their muus,” or “There’s enough room for BOTH of us in here.” But he could tell I was all bark and no bite. I had nothing to back it up. In other words, I was wearing underwear.
Tara told me, “I wear mine to the store.” And I’ll admit that I’m not quite that brazen or crunchy just yet.
But I did catch a glimpse of myself, years from now, as some awesomely hip grandma who smells good and is soft in all the right places, snagging some seriously snuggle time with those grand kids, who could conceivably get lost in the fabric.
But they don’t care. They just think I’m their cool gran who adores them. Giant house dress or not.
Here’s to you, muumuu. For the comfort you’re giving me today and the glimpse of a wise, warm, confident woman who I aspire to be.
You m-m-m-make me happy.