dressing myself

As I mentioned in a previous post, I was stylin' in the 70's.  Here's another hot one of me at age 4:

You go go, girl!

(I believe I am mad because Bozo kept popping back up after I'd laid him out.  I had the same problem a few years later with my little brother.)

 

The reason I was dressed so well (if I do say so myself) is because my mother picked out my clothes.  Here's a pic of how I dressed myself in the 80's for prom:

Is that seriously a mullet?  And where did I think I was going?  Tara?

At least you can tell I'm having a fabulous time.

And this is how I dressed myself in the 90's (on the weekends, anyway):

I am not the cute little blonde in the foreground.

I'd add a pic of myself in the 2000s, but you get the picture.  (See how cleverly I worded that?)  What is the moral of this story?  Let your mother dress you.  I'd have her help me now, but she no longer admits to knowing me.

And since I'm sharing awkward photos, I'd like to thank Kevin for his great positioning of me and my friend Kristin in this shot of us at the Grand Canyon:

As if I needed help looking like a dork.