(Mr. Bennet always had this thing about marrying a girl with really long legs. Sorry about that. But I didn’t get an independently wealthy gourmet who disdains professional sports, so I think we’re even.)

pinstripe jacket: DI, $4

gray wool skirt: DI $6

3/4 sleeve black tshirt: DownEast Basics $12.99

shoes: DI $4

The jacket is too small; I can’t zip it, but I loved the pinstripes. The skirt is dry clean only, so I don’t plan to get it dirty. I would never have bought these pieces in a regular store (having rules against too-small stuff and dry clean only stuff), but at these prices, rules are made to be broken! This DownEast Basics shirt is my new favorite shirt; I wear it with everything, since I hate long-sleeves, but it’s cold and my upper arms are a bit . . . fleshy. I bought another one on Saturday, so now I only have to do the wash once a week!

I drafted Sally to take pictures while Mr. B. made our customary after-church cheese toasties (grilled cheese sandwiches). Here she is with her favorite feline:

And Susan:

And here is a possible explanation for Skippyjon Jones’ sudden turns to the maniacal scratcher-biter (Other theories being that he needs a certain surgery recommended for male cats around 6 months of age):

Just a girl and her cat.

Getting a little distracted by the snow.

Smiling for pesky Mom.

And getting distracted again. Poor kitty.

Most of the time when people talk about fashion, I think of the Emperor’s New Clothes fairytale. Or Thoreau, who advised: “beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes.” This is when I’m not thinking about other intellectual things like what’s for dinner and what was on TV last night.

Fashion is a creative, subjective thing. One person’s [insert high-fashion label] is another person’s thrift shop bargain (unless by thrift you mean “vintage,” in which case they really ARE the same thing). Consider this ring featured in The New York Times.

The comments were the best thing about this column, proving again that the Internet really is like manna, a gift from Heaven that nourishes and allows the unempowered a format for correcting the hubris of salaried journalistas. Here are just a few:

is that my highschool ring? (Mary)

What a find! It must be really difficult to research and source these unique items, what with a Banana Republic on every other corner in NYC and most shopping malls around the country. Maybe you could do a piece on gum ball machine jewelry too. (Sar Casm)

That is one ugly ring — why not go to Salvation Army or Goodwill and pick up something for $1? (Casino Con)

Man, I love the internet. Only, let’s not diss Salvation Army, ok?

Speaking of fashion and motherhood, though, my good friend Andrea dropped out of high school to marry her high school sweetheart. (And no, she didn’t “have to”). She later took the GED and got a plaque from the state of Utah congratulating her on getting the high score that year. Then she became a pharamicist, and then later she said something profound about fashion and motherhood, which brought me a lot of vindicatory satisfaction at the time.

In her visits with new mothers at the hospital, Andrea said she could often tell which mothers were going to breastfeed by how they looked after the birth. Breastfeeding was less common in those mothers who fussed over their hair and clothes and makeup than those who looked like death warmed over. Since I looked like death not even warmed over after giving birth, I thought this sounded only fair. Who has time/energy/desire to primp with a bloodsucking eel attached 24/7?

Then Mrs. Fussypants had to go and give birth to her fifth boy child. And then she had to go and wear pearls. And earrings. And, is that mascara? And I KNOW she breastfeeds.

At least she did have to suffer the crime against humanity known as the hospital gown. Otherwise I’d have to hate her. As it is, I’m thinking I need to reconsider my principled stand against Beautified Mother Barbie. Now that Barbie breastfeeds, and all.

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p.s. Thanks to Fussy for allowing me to use her picture.

p.p.s. I didn’t ask Andrea’s permission before outing her as a smart high school dropout and probably misrepresenting her words egregiously. I hope she can forgive me.

I ran (in the minivan) to Walmart right after walking with Shalece today. While I didn’t shower or anything, I did change out of my exercise clothes.

But if the same kind of people shop at your Walmart as do at mine (people like me), then you know that I was NOT the most frumpy person there.

That didn’t stop Susan from saying to the (surprisingly well-styled) cashier “You have pink lips.”

WHOSE MOTHER NEEDS LIPSTICK?

This is what I looked like (Susan wondered why I was taking a picture of the mirror. Finally got her to be quiet by working her into the shot).

I wanted to get a picture of my back because that’s the subject of my Fight the Frump tip today: Hide the hunchback.

Now, I don’t know if this is a common woman problem, or if it is specific to my family, but I have to say that I think I get it from my mom. We just have a bit of a hump at the top of our spines. So I feel weird wearing shirts cut low, even a little bit, in the back.

It’s for sure not a calcium deficiency, ’cause we drink enough chocolate milk (Nesquik with added Calcium: we’re healthy like that) to float your boat (literally).

So when I went shopping with Tara for spring dresses, I kept my hunchback in mind. I picked her out a cute pink-y Easter dress and found a rather Autumnal (flattering darker colors) ensemble for myself for $15.50 at Ross. I love making Dick guess how much I paid for clothes. Perhaps he’s humoring me after ten years of this game, but he always guesses outrageous amounts ($35? $25?) and then acts all relieved when I say “$15.50″ “for both the skirt AND shirt.”

Notice how the Mandarin-ish collar hides the hunchback, but it vees in front so I don’t feel choked to death. My breasts look kinda saggy (who’s still nursing?), but I promise I am wearing a bra in this picture, one of two I own; maybe I shouldn’t have thrown them in the dryer.

Speaking of bras, and nursing (anytime, anywhere), I loved Fussy’s post this week on Nursing with STYLE. The only thing I’d add is that great longer-length camisoles can be found at ‘modesty’ stores like Shade and Down East Basics. They’re sometimes a bit shrink-wrapped for this body, but that’s not necessarily a drawback for an underlayer.

Can’t wait to see what the other Frump-Fighters tackle this week, though I am trying to keep my participation secret from Dick. Don’t want to raise any unrealistic expectations.

So, what strikes me as absurd today is the warning on the exercise bike at our apartment complex. It says to stop immediately if you feel pain, dizziness, shortness of breath, faint or ANY DISCOMFORT. Well, and I thought that was the whole point of exercise.

I’m training so hard lately because I want to hone my ping-pong game ’till I’m as good as these guys:

NOT because I want to get skinnier (well, you know, maybe a tiny bit). In case you had no idea that a size 2 is probably an unrealistic goal/ideal/image for most women, here’s a great picture I’m hanging on our fridge of the ‘ideal’ male body (from the New York Times):

Hubba-hubba, huh?

Then Sally came home from school with a conscience, and a song. I think I may have been premature in diagnosing her as tone-deaf. She can definitely follow a tune. In more than one language, yet.

(First in English): I tell the truth, the truth is what I tell. In any situation, I can never fail with ho-nes-ty, wooo-oooo ho-nes-ty. I leave the Spanish translation to your imagination; You’d never guess from Sally’s accent that she was American.

Today’s discussion topic (Now children, when you’re home with your mom and dad, ask what they would do) was What would you do with a hundred dollars? Dick said he’d buy a microphone for his podcasts.

I said I’d . . . well, to be honest, I didn’t say anything because I was trying to block out the entire conversation. The kid’s lucky to have one parent paying attention at any given time. Two would be overkill.

Sally said she would buy a fancy house and a cat, and then give the rest to charity. I think we’re all feeling a bit freakin’ bonkers stir crazy being indoors this winter. So a fancy house means one with room to run around in AWAY FROM MOM, and the cat is a recurring refrain. Whatever. But she would give the rest to charity. Dick and I are obviously doing something right.

Nothing involving reality, or awareness of the world, money, value, cost, or anything of that sort. But, still. It’s inspiring. So, does anyone want a really cute vest?