I have pregnancy freckles! The technical name for it is "chloasma" and I have a pretty mild case of it, since my skin is darkish to begin with. It reminds me of the time my best friend and I pretended to have a fight in the fifth grade so our teacher would sit us next to each other again (yeah, the logic escapes me even to this day). I just remember making a big show of calling her "Nutmeg Nose" in front of Mrs. Bowman. So I now I see myself in the mirror and think "Nutmeg Nose! Nutmeg Nose!" And if you think I'm going to tell you what my fight nickname was, you're out of your minds.
I'm also facing another wardrobe dilemma: the suits I bought in London, which didn't fit me very well in May, now don't fit seasonally. I could wear them, but it's too warm out -- I'd sweat off any weight I'm supposed to gain. Ugh. Air conditioning is still a rarity here behind the Rusted Iron Curtain, so I've taken to wearing my husband's boxers around the house. (It's still possible to tell us apart; I'm the short one.) But what to wear to work? I think I'll just cut some holes in some potato sacks, and rely on my keen sense for accessorizing...not!