Youthful Indiscretions

And the commission thereof when one no longer qualifies as strictly youthful (but still useful, one hopes).

I bought myself a black velour tracksuit today, not entirely dissimilar to the ones that were trendy when I was a teen (I had a plum-coloured outfit when I was 13 or so). They've started a yoga class at work, and I need something stretchy to wear. I looked at official yoga pants, but they were 60 bucks and I had an unenthusiastic 9-year-old in tow. Then we walked past one of the trendy teenybopper stores I always avoid, and they had rack upon rack of velour right out front, so we wandered in. Fifteen bucks for pants and a hoodie, and Chickadee was most enthusiastic about the velour, so I took the plunge - without trying them on in the store. Sometimes you just have to live dangerously.

Dean eyed the outfit somewhat dubiously when I got home - it is at the J-Lo end of the fashion spectrum - but changed his tune once I modeled it for him.

It's designed for teens with 2% body fat, I'll admit - the waistband barely clears my hipbones, and the jackets ends mid-rib. Kate Moss would look fabulous. But I've got to admit that I look something less than totally ridiculous in it. Dean thinks I look hot, and I'm not terribly inclined to disagree. My abs are going to get a serious workout, but it's a small price to pay - for someone with 39 lurking in their near future, any outfit that encourages ass-grabbing is a good one.