Our family co-sleeps, and our little one likes to lie on top of the covers. When he climbs on the bed, his 70-plus-pound bulk effectively pins the comforter to the mattress, preventing Husband and me from pulling the covers far enough to the edge to cover our freeezing asses.

(I am, of course, speaking of Dog. My son doesn’t weigh half that, and there’s no room for him in our bed anyway.)

So I went to a department store last week to by a king-size comforter for our queen-size bed, hoping that the overhang would give us the extra coverage we need. While I was at the store my eye was drawn to a chocolate-brown shrug trimmed in fur on the collar and sleeves. Now, my fashdar is kind of impaired, and I have no idea whether this style would be considered fabulous or fashion victim, but “when I am old I shall wear mildly inappropriate color combinations” and all that. I don’t think anyone would be inconvenienced if I got an early start on my dotage, so I bought it.

When I got it home, unfortunately, I saw that nothing in my closet went with it. I tried various sweaters and shirts, but everything made my less-than-svelte midsection look huge. The next day, I went out to a few stores, Aitch in tow, to browse, the baby being a guarantee that I could spend no more than five minutes per shop.

To my surprise I found the same shrug in another color in a pricey boutique, for five times what I had paid. Because I am shallow, this re-affirmed the value of my purchase and made me that much more determined to find something to go with it. A saleswoman offered the opinion that the shrug would look best over a shirt in a matching color, which would avoid the midriffs-a-poppin’ look that I was getting from the light-colored shirts I had tried.

Emboldened, I ventured out again the next day while Aitch was at day care to look for a brown sweater or tank. The saleslady from the previous day remembered me and immediately asked, “Where’s your baby?” I know she was just making conversation, but her tone of voice instantly put me on the defensive, feeling that I had been branded The Mother Who Shops While Strangers Raise Her Son.

I explained where Aitch was and then segued into my mission. She found me a brown sparkly t-shirt. I tried ir on but found that the mirror was outside the dressing room, so I had to go back to the main part of the store to see how it looked.

“I think that would be perfect,” she said.

“I don’t know…I think it’s a little clingy around the middle considering the sweater on top is so short,” I said. Indicating my paunch, I said, “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“Oh, that’s from having the baby,” she said.

“Well, the baby’s adopted, so no, that’s just me,” I responded.

Silence. Then, “Oh.”

New Year’s resolution: crunches?