Shabby Chic

Lynne told me the other day that she saw her daughter-in-law early in the morning and she was (in Lynne's words) striking. She said she had on cute jeans, little sparkly flip-flops, red toenails, a darling sweater that slid perfectly off one shoulder, hair back in a smooth bun, Hollywood-esque shades donned, oversized bag on one shoulder, and Starbucks in hand.

Oh to be so beautiful first thing in the morning. Oh to step out looking like this:

I told Lynne that the same day her daughter-in-law stepped out in style, I came home from my running partner's house wearing the following ensemble: Running pants with a rather embarrassing hole in the seat, a ratty old t-shirt, a too-big fleece, hair in the sloppiest pony of my life, makeup cried off entirely, and lovely sparkly chandelier earrings. (I'd had those on with my dress up outfit pre-run and wasn't sure how else to get them safely home except to put them back in my ears.) In short, I looked more like this:

Well. Sort of.

The worst part about that wasn't that I abused shabby like Lynne's daughter-in-law rocked chic.

It was that I sort of felt like my father's daughter.

Gulp.

Stopped by their house one Sunday after church and Dad came wandering out wearing plaid pajama pants (rolled up at the cuff), a different plaid button down shirt, tan socks, and brown shoes.

(Note. The man in the photo is not my dad. We know this largely because of the hair. Dad has none of that.) (But you get the idea.)

I about died. "DAD!!!," I said. He looked rather innocently at me and I said, "DAD. Listen. One of these days something is going to happen and the news is going to show up. Do you WANT to be on the front page of the paper IN COLOR in that outfit?"

He shook his head. "Never going to happen."

The next week I sent him the front page of the Fort Wayne newspaper, where the above-the-fold color photo showed a man who got stuck in a tree and had to be removed by emergency personnel.

I said, "See? All it takes is one bad combo on a slow news day and you're in color on the front page. Think about it."

Better to be on the shabby side of chic than bad plaid on the front page, don't you agree?