Glamor, Thy Name is ... Flannel?

I've been trying to coming to terms with a confession I made to my husband shortly before I turned 40 several years ago. We were walking past a Victoria's Secret in the mall when it hit me. I couldn't keep the truth to myself any longer.

After dragging him away from the store window getting his attention, I proceeded to tell him a the truth about myself. Something I had never told him before.

"Michael," I cried, "there's something you need to know about me."

"What, you want pizza instead of tacos?" Little did he suspect the awful truth I was about to reveal.

"No, honey. There's something you need to know."

I hemmed and hawed a little, hesitating to reveal such a devastating truth to my love.

Finally, I screwed up my courage and blurted it out.

"Honey, you need to know that I will never be glamorous."

He took this revelation surprisingly well. Apparently, I hadn't hidden my secret as well as I thought.

Apparently, I have had more difficulty coming to terms with my naturally unglamorous self than my darling husband.

Most of the time, I'm comfortable with the fact that I don't wear makeup and rarely leave the house in anything but clogs or my orthopedically altered walking shoes.

I can even handle my graying hair and the cheap haircut that causes the right side of my hair to curl up into "horns," as my girls fondly point out.

But every now and then, a flicker of glam desire buried deep in my soul flares.

It happened last year when watching The Sopranos with my son.

Did you ever notice that Carmela Soprano had gorgeous nightgowns? And not just nightgowns, but complete peignoir sets, silk no doubt. That got me thinking. If Carmela, despite all her problems with Tony, AJ, and the FBI could treat herself to pretty nightwear, then by golly, so could I!


After all, I was in my early forties and the only pajamas I had were mismatched flannel or stretched out Kohl's specials. I deserved a little glamour in my life!
I marched off to the nearest swanky department store and proceeded to purchase 5 - yes, that's right, 5 - peignoir sets.
They truly were lovely and I felt sexy in them. I wore them a grand total of once or twice each that first month, then the trouble began.
I felt kind of uncomfortable walking around in slinky silk pajamas around my kids, especially my sons. Putting a flannel robe on over the top didn't really add to the glamorous effect I was after.
Secondly, those things are cold! Sweat socks and silk aren't commonly considered the pinnacle of haute couture.
And finally, silk is slippery. I felt as if I were sliding off the dining room chairs at breakfast, about to slip off the couch while reading the paper, and my flannel robe kept wanting to slough off onto the floor.
So, unfortunately, my innate lack of glamor came shining through. I gaze lovingly at my peignoir sets occasionally, and fantasize about wearing them again someday.
But I've learned to face the truth. I'm a flannel girl in a silky world.
Something my dh has known for more than twenty years.