Calista
I'm dressed like a character from Ally McBeal today.
I didn't mean to be. Honestly. And I didn't realize I was. Until I got to the office. By then it was too late.
I woke up today in a better mood than I've been in in days. I've had this project hanging over my head at work that I haven't wanted to deal with, but I woke up, sat up in bed, ticked off on my fingers everything I needed to do to get my head in a place where I could deal with the matter, then hopped out of bed and trundled off to the treadmill.
As I was walking, reading Kindy Friedman and listening to Rufus Wainwright, I also considered what I should wear. Considering what to wear on Wednesdays is always tricky. Wednesdays are bar nights and I don't go home between work and the bar. So I have to wear something that I don't mind smelling like cigarette smoke for the next week or so after going out.
I remembered a jumper that a friend had given me while cleaning out her closet a few months ago. And I remembered a dress that I'd bought in graduate school while interning in DC. Neither of those two pieces fit several months ago, but I'd gotten up a few minutes early and I had time to try them on. You know, before I decided that they made me look horribly fat, then I would wear some long baggy sweater over too-big pants, thereby camoflaging said fat. You ladies know the drill.
Jumper? No. Size too small. Fit around the waist. Tried to button up the front and ended up hunched over like...well, like someone who lives in a bell tower in Paris.
Dress. It fit. So, I kept it on. Basic black. Basic dress. Put on a velvet jacket with it and decided I looked like I was going to a nightclub. Switched to a conservative grey with 3/4 sleeves and liked it quite well.
My office moved last year. In the move, we kept a large wall mirror that we haven't found a place to hang in our new office. So it sits on the floor, next to the file cabinets, and reflects your legs as you walk into the office. I like it, as I like to see where my pants hit my foot. I had a floodpant incident in 6th grade that I never really got over. Sky blue cords. Excuse me. I need to take a minute....
Okay. Now. Walk into the office. I have a trench coat on. Take off the coat. Go to the ladies' room. Come back in.
Holy crap. That skirt is short. I stop. Look in the mirror. It isn't too far past my fingertips, actually. Short. It doesn't look bad, really. But I'm glad I don't have clients coming in. And the guys I work with wouldn't risk saying anything about it. They act like I'm a guy, for the most part. For which I'm thankful, for the most part.
I'm now hidden behind my desk for the remainder of the day. I'll have to strategically plan trips to the bathroom. And I need to remember not to drop anything on the floor.
I didn't mean to be. Honestly. And I didn't realize I was. Until I got to the office. By then it was too late.
I woke up today in a better mood than I've been in in days. I've had this project hanging over my head at work that I haven't wanted to deal with, but I woke up, sat up in bed, ticked off on my fingers everything I needed to do to get my head in a place where I could deal with the matter, then hopped out of bed and trundled off to the treadmill.
As I was walking, reading Kindy Friedman and listening to Rufus Wainwright, I also considered what I should wear. Considering what to wear on Wednesdays is always tricky. Wednesdays are bar nights and I don't go home between work and the bar. So I have to wear something that I don't mind smelling like cigarette smoke for the next week or so after going out.
I remembered a jumper that a friend had given me while cleaning out her closet a few months ago. And I remembered a dress that I'd bought in graduate school while interning in DC. Neither of those two pieces fit several months ago, but I'd gotten up a few minutes early and I had time to try them on. You know, before I decided that they made me look horribly fat, then I would wear some long baggy sweater over too-big pants, thereby camoflaging said fat. You ladies know the drill.
Jumper? No. Size too small. Fit around the waist. Tried to button up the front and ended up hunched over like...well, like someone who lives in a bell tower in Paris.
Dress. It fit. So, I kept it on. Basic black. Basic dress. Put on a velvet jacket with it and decided I looked like I was going to a nightclub. Switched to a conservative grey with 3/4 sleeves and liked it quite well.
My office moved last year. In the move, we kept a large wall mirror that we haven't found a place to hang in our new office. So it sits on the floor, next to the file cabinets, and reflects your legs as you walk into the office. I like it, as I like to see where my pants hit my foot. I had a floodpant incident in 6th grade that I never really got over. Sky blue cords. Excuse me. I need to take a minute....
Okay. Now. Walk into the office. I have a trench coat on. Take off the coat. Go to the ladies' room. Come back in.
Holy crap. That skirt is short. I stop. Look in the mirror. It isn't too far past my fingertips, actually. Short. It doesn't look bad, really. But I'm glad I don't have clients coming in. And the guys I work with wouldn't risk saying anything about it. They act like I'm a guy, for the most part. For which I'm thankful, for the most part.
I'm now hidden behind my desk for the remainder of the day. I'll have to strategically plan trips to the bathroom. And I need to remember not to drop anything on the floor.
posted by Miss Head at
5:05 AM
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