Know your colors, know your fabrics.

Tonight, I'm sitting on my couch. In sweatpants. With not one, but two, two doxies on my lap. Obviously, this is heaven.

In the last four days, I attended four Christmas parties. Two were super fun. One was hideous. And one ... well, it made me feel like complete and total trailer trash.

Remember last week, when I was all, "Hey, look at my Christmas decorations?" That post where I exposed my soul by showing my Patti LaBelle Christmas ornament and its careful placement next to the Ewoks?

Yeah. The next night? I went to a fete at a home that has been featured in House Beautiful.

I'm not even kidding.

I was my friend L.'s plus one for a gathering of The Fabulous People. I was wearing my black pants that used to drape so well but that now dig into my gut. And the host of The Fabulous People was wearing a bow tie. And he invited us to explore every nook and cranny of his five-bedroom, six-fireplace, heated-floors-in-the-bathroom, scented-with-quince-candles-that-he-buys-in-Paris home.

It was lovely.

Absolutely nothing was out of place. Not a thing. It must be exhausting to live that way. No piles of mail. No Rubbermaid containers, even in the basement. Nothing in the fridge ...

Well, that part was wholly disturbing. Three dishwashers, but nothing in the fridge seems morally wrong.

I was sort of glad to go home to my little post-war ranch and Swiffer up the dog hair. But I felt decidedly unfabulous.

If you're looking for a happy medium between my shack and the 5,500 square foot perfection I visited last week, take a gander at the holiday house tours offered by some bloggy friends:

Magic27
Giving Up On Perfect
Unfabulousness