Crimes Against the Seeing

My apologies for not blogging much over the last few days. I know missing a day of my blog is like missing a day of Oprah.
I forgot to wear makeup today. Didn't even notice till I got to work and saw myself in the mirror. To everyone who looked at me and thought, My heavens, is she ill? thanks for your concern, but it was just an absence of powder.
That was crime number one. The less serious offense, by far, because in the following area I am a repeat - nay, habitual - offender: Fashion. I have almost no fashion sense.
I can hear all my female friends saying, "No, you're not that bad, you just need some, uh, guidance." Thanks, but you don't have to sugar-coat this for me. No one's sugar-coating my wardrobe for you, are they?
My biggest problem is motivation. I like to be comfortable. I'm cheap (and poor). I'm in a hurry in the mornings. My desire to be cute is just not strong enough to overcome these obstacles. Oh, and I hate hate hate shopping. Hate it. Hate it.
A year ago, my roommates staged an intervention. I'm not even making this up. They took the sweaters out of my closet, put them in a pile on the floor, and said, "You're not allowed to wear these." OK, I'd had them since high school, which was 15 years ago, but apart from being hideously unfashionable there was nothing actually wrong with them, and I get cold a lot.
Suddenly everyone was forbidding me to wear stuff. My friend at work. My brother's girlfriend. My own mother refused to be seen in public with me when I wore a certain Elmer Fuddish winter hat. I also have this green ear-warmer thing. I've been told more than once, "You're going to take that off before we go anywhere." Even the band I use to tie my hair back when I wash my face at night gets disparaging remarks.
The flip side of this is that I've been getting help to be more fashionable, and to replace the forbidden items with things that don't hurt people's eyes. I don't always have the money (or the patience) to buy new things, but progress has been made. For my birthday, my brother and his girlfriend took me shopping; he provided the credit card, she provided the fashion sense, and I was the dumb and complacent model. Got some good stuff out of that trip. Brother says I need to "advertise," the theory being that men will be more interested if they can tell they're looking at a girl, not just a lump of flannel. It probably says a lot about the depth of my frumpiness that ever since high school, my whole family has been trying to skank me up. I'm finally coming around - not to wanton Tartdom, but to the notion that it can't hurt to wrap the merchandise in an attractive package.
My friend at work gave me a sweater for Christmas and was my shopping advisor on several occasions. My roommates help me out before I leave the house. My mom encourages me to spend money on clothes and other fun things, not just on boring practical stuff. (How sad is it that I'm so unused to having fun that my mother has to order me to do it?)
So I'm trying, kind of, most of the time. Except for little setbacks like today's makeup-less adventure (again, apologies to my coworkers for having to behold my zits in all their glory), I think I do OK. But then again, if it were only about what I think, I'd still be wearing those huge sweaters.