Bond-age and power lines

So I hauled myself off to Target last weekend for the Neiman Marcus collaboration, and while there were many items that interested me not one bit, I made the surprising but fortuitous discovery: I had this giant hole in my wardrobe that absolutely HAD to be filled with long, metal studded gloves.

Because, see, I have this 3/4-length sleeved jacket and until last weekend my arms would get cold. Which is a dreadful kind of first-world problem to have.

But no longer!

Also, I am posting this totally gratuitous photo because I love my outfit and I wish I could wear it every day.

We went to a party on Sunday, and it was the first time since getting pregnant that I've actually felt good in what I was wearing. I've been schlumping around in comfy, non-binding clothes and feeling frumpy. The regular globs of oatmeal/spit up/what is this gunk? don't help.

So I'd forgotten how much I used to like getting dressed sometimes.

I bought this dress in Paris, and it has these fabulous 60s-style buttons and front pocket. I then was immediately unable to wear it. Like, tried it on a wee bit pregnant, splurged, returned to the US, and my thighs doubled in size and refused to be squozen into it.

Now, however, with a little help of the Spanx variety, I am totally ready to kick ass.

I asked Nick if I could be an aging Bond girl in this outfit and he gave me that edge of mirth, "Sure, honey." kind of answer.

But these gloves make me wish I were a spy or hired assassin (except for the killing part) or something like that. Or just an actual international woman of mystery.

Then I would totally make my escape using the hideous power lines behind our house.