Spring-ish cleaning

Shopping with my 21-year-old, 5-foot-8 and 110-pound sister is often more like a lesson in self-esteem destruction than a fun afternoon out. But every now and again, I subject myself to the resulting self-loathing, in hopes that either her skinniness, her height or her style will rub off on me.

The good thing about hitting the shops with Dear Sister is that I usually get pretty good advice about what to try. The bad thing is no matter what it is, I either end up looking like a pregnant milkmaid, an out-of-work stripper or the ultimate in soccer mom chic, and resort to buying my 35th cardigan or my 410th plain tank top.

Keeping this in mind, I was more than a little apprehensive when Dear Sister offered to help me clean out my closet.

Dear Sister: Come on, it will be fun. And you will look like you are 26 again.
Me: I'm only 25.
DS: But you're still pushing 30.

I tried on every. article. of. clothing. I. owned.

DS: Um, you need to get rid of all the Mr. Rogers sweaters. You look like a librarian.

M: I am a librarian.

DS: But you don't have to look like it.

It was an uphill battle, and needless to say, I now have a half-empty closet. At least she couldn't touch my shoes.

Marriage is compromise #1

This is a sign that I need to brush up my cooking skills.

Hubbs: What should we have for dinner, macaroni and cheese or pizza rolls?

Me: I was just going to have cereal.

Hubbs: Ooh, let's have Golden Grahams.

Me: Done.

The sad part is, it is not the first time we had this conversation. This week. And it's only Wednesday.