Confession: some days I dress like Mrs. Roper.
True Confession: I dress like Mrs. Roper daily.
Yah, I know, shame on me for not being truthful in my first confession but whatever. I’m obviously working on it so give me a break.
So yes, I dress like Mrs. Roper and I’m both outwardly ashamed and secretly pleased. And I guess if all my years of schooling tell me anything: I’m addicted to bad clothing and I know it’s wrong. Yet I cannot stop.
So how do I know all this bad clothing is wrong?
Holy crow, I’m forty years old yet I’m dressing like a Floridian retiree who clips coupons for Polident and then tries to pick up the bag boy at the Piggly Wiggly. A bag boy who will undoubtedly try to ignore my advances while packing up my dented cans of beans, cat food, denture adhesive, corn pads, and expired luncheon meat. But I won’t let that young stud out of my sight so I’lI engage him with purr that says “can you carry those to my car, tiger” while reaching over to touch his arm one hand liberally slathered in White Shoulders. And that purr will sound more like a death knell and it probably will cause permanent damage to this poor boy who is just trying to save up enough cash for an xBox. But because we all know that a sexual fantasy/fetish is born out of disturbing experiences, my cougar ways will become ingrained on his psyche and suddenly his cheerleader fantasy becomes infected with images of The Roper. Junior the bagboy will suddenly find himself sniffing caftans and dreaming of a Walmart version of Zsa Zsa Gabor for years to come. Rawr. My work is done.
And that there my friends, makes my mumu wearing so very wrong. So very, very wrong.
Sure, it hasn’t happened yet but you just know it will. Just give me a few more years.
So yes, I can’t help the fact that I find mumus (mumi? mumues?) incredibly comfortable and liberating. I never ever feel chafe from my mumu, my mumu never tells me that I ate one too many pints of Ben & Jerry’s and my mumu always loves me.
Or I think it always loves me. Maybe it just enables me?
This post is a completely reworked and butchered (with love) repost from motherbumper. Katie does this so you can feel better about yourself. Stand next to her at conferences and you are guaranteed to look like America’s Next Top Model — it’s a fact!
About Katie Motherbumper
Yikes, sister! I can’t bring myself to wear a house dress even though I am sure they are comfy. We won’t talk about my jogging pants and baseball caps though. ;)
Hey, at least you realize it, right? Embrace it!
Practice! Maybe the hot bag boy at the Piggly Wiggly actually WILL fall for your charms by the time that day comes.
Twitter Name: AMomTwoBoys
I was told that if I started wearing a muumuu I’d get divorce papers. I challenged that by having a muumuu party w/ my friends.
TAKE THAT, HUSBAND.
Twitter Name: alotofnothing
Mrs. Roper was a sexy hot tigress who know how to work the mumu. So you rock that mumu girl and don’t let anyone stop you.
Twitter Name: toywithme
Mrs. Roper proved that the accessories MAKE the muumuu. A big beaded plastic necklace can take you a long way!
Twitter Name: modernsupermom
Mrs Roper Rocks…yes i know i have issues lol
My mom bought me a huge robe to wear in the hospital when I went in to have my first baby. It was blue, and thin, and long, and had a huge zipper all the way up the front. It didn’t bunch anywhere, and it was awesome.
I wore it from time to time, and even took it to the hospital when I had my second baby. It was my ROBE.
Years later, a good friend of mine and I were talking about our memories of our first babies, and she started laughing so hard she could hardly speak. TEARS were running down her face. She finally managed to get the words out, “remember that huge mumu you wore?! oh my gosh, whatever happened to the mumu??”
She had to describe the “mumu” a few more times before I realized she was talking about my ROBE. The ROBE that I still wore now and then. The ROBE that I lounged comfortably in right out in front of my entire family. I had maybe even answered the door for the UPS guy in that ROBE a few times.
“MUMU”?!
That afternoon I said “goodbye” to the ROBE forever. Somehow, I can wear a big, flowing, zippered ROBE. But a big, flowing, zippered MUMU is just hard to swallow on some level.
There is nothing wrong with hitting on the bag boy at the Piggly Wiggly. We should all aspire to such greatness.