48 straight hours in workout clothes

I *just* realized why I've had such a difficult time writing this weekend.

In case any of you had jumped to conclusions I wanted to preempt your suppositions and tell you the truth.

And no, there is no octogenarian Republican involved.

From Friday after work until just before bed tonight, I have worn nothing but sloppy workout clothes. How can a girl, well moisturized as she may be, rightly give fashion and beauty advice when she's in too-big light blue sweatpants, a Little Miss Sunshine novelty tee with a hole in the left armpit, a dark brown hoodie covered in dog hair, bangs slicked back with a lime green cloth headband and not a stitch of makeup?

Each time I was in the midst of writing a post, I'd inevitably get thirsty for a Diet Sunkist and pass by one of my many mirrors when fetching it. Feeling like an imposter, each time I plopped back down I deleted every picture and every word.

It got worse when I On Demanded "The Devil Wears Prada." I'd surprisingly waited until now to see it, but I thought considering my writer's block, what movie could be more inspirational than one famous for its couture wardrobe and brilliant lines like, "Size 0 is the new 2, 2 is the new 4, and you're a 6? Well, that's the new 14."

The film was as deliciously entertaining as I knew it would be, but as each minute went by and every outfit was more beautiful than the last - I literally gasped out loud at each installment of the winter coat montage - I kept looking around to see if anyone besides my pup (he himself draped in oatmeal-colored cashmere) was giving me a you're-not-really-wearing-that look.

My friends will be surprised to hear this from me, but I think we all need a weekend like this one where there's no pressure to wear a double-coat of mascara, no events requiring you to interact with name-dropping DC-types, and where Special K Red Berry passes just as easily for dinner as it does for breakfast.

When I wake up tomorrow morning and slip on my slim gray trousers, sleeveless black cowlneck shell, and Oscar pumps, don't worry, I'll be back in full judgmental force -- with that double-coat of mascara.