The last time I wore this dress and posted about it was about eight months ago. I’m still wearing it, still cooking in white (bold, I know — apron’s going on for this one), and still entirely unashamed.
After that post, so many of you wrote in with suggestions — shapewear, underwear, ways to hold everything in. I appreciate every one of them, but I’ve decided that kind of restriction just isn’t for me anymore. At a certain age, you stop wanting to be held in and start wanting to just own it. Let it all hang out, as long as you catch me from the right angle — don’t get me from the side, I can’t hide much there.
Be comfortable. Wear what you love. Rock your body, warts and all — Caesarean apron included. I did briefly consider a cover-up, some clever draping to soften that area, but then I remembered Tom Conti’s line as the Greek taverna owner in Shirley Valentine — that it’s simply “the signs of a woman.” I’ve been telling myself that for thirty years now, and I’m finally embracing it properly.
Right — apron on, let’s get cooking.