Cinderella Goes To Scottsdale Fashion Week '08

Zang Toi Fashion Show from Scottsdale Fashion Week...yeah, I didn't know who he was either.

So, um, I live a very un-exciting, yet happy existence filled with blissful homebodyness with my cute hubby, Jerry, Cole's never-ending soccer practices and games, birthday parties, work, meetings, procrastinating cleaning, starting projects I cannot finish. ZZZZ...asleep yet?

So, when my very exciting, fun friend, Fern called me as I was leaving yet another soccer game, inviting me to accompany her to Scottsdale's Fashion Week that night, I felt like Cinderella did when her fairy godmother appeared to spruce her up for the ball! She scored some VIP passes from her friend, R, to attend three fashion shows: Nordstrom, Rolf's Hair Salon and NY couture designer, Zang Toi. Not only did we attend these three FRIGGIN' FABULOUS fashion shows, but WE SAT IN THE FRONT ROW!!! THE FRONT ROW!!! For a broad that's used to sitting in the nose-bleeds for any concert, sporting event, etc. throughout the course of my somewhat mundane life, hence, THIS WAS HUGE.

Did I feel like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, attending all the schmancy NY fashion shows? YEP! Although, I am oceans away from Carrie's overtly sophisticated fashion concoctions. So, back to the Cinderella reference, if you will.

So you might be wondering, "Whatdja wear to the ball, ole Cindy-relle?" Since I work full time, my closet is filled with fairly conservative, safe dresses. Work dresses. Not fashion show dresses. I have my one standby LBD, aka Little Black Dress, which works for cocktail parties (haven't been to one in years), funerals or in my case, it works for going to work. I'm sure amongst the stately, high brow crowd a la couture, clad in the latest, sleekest, beyond my vanilla ice cream fashion level comprehension, I looked like a gal who had just come from work. "One of these things is not like the other..." Yeah, sing it sister. I really didn't care. It was a people watching opportunity fo sho.

As the broomstick-like, starving models floated by us, legs as long as my entire 60" body, adorned with ensembles that were artistic and mind-boggling, little Cindy-relle here, looked down at my own fashion statement. It was then that I realized, my Little Black Dress was from Target, one of my favorite stores. My eyes continued down to my painful, patent leather, peep-toe pumps...hmmm, also from Target. My black clutch, resting in my lap...you guessed it, from Target too. I was head to toe Target Couture amongst a sea of legit coutoury couture folk.

The clock struck midnight and I knew my Tar'ge' boutique threads would soon turn into...well, maybe Walmart garb. Oy. Time to go. My Prince Charming was snoring loudly when I returned back to the castle, and the two little mice were tucked sweetly into their beds. I would dream of the amazing creations that glided down the runway that night, knowing that being the unfashionista was fashionably ok for me.