Every month, I go on a PR call, a call that I lovingly refer to as "The biggest one hour waste of my life I have ever encountered." Why? Because it's basically just 30-60 minutes of people trying to disguise their really, really dumb ideas with corporate pseudo-talk. It sucks.
So, in order to keep from actually falling asleep at my desk, I will update. Again, I have been called away from regular updates by Gabby's end of school excitements plus a whole crapload of work that I could choose to rant about here, but I won't. I also have been rather called away from looking fashionable at all. I've not been sleeping well lately, so perhaps that is why, and also, my three year old washed my contacts down the drain in a misguided effort to "wash dishes" in the bathroom sink. Therefore, I have not been at my most fashionable lately.
The penultimate degree of this nastiness was on Tuesday. I wasn't feeling fashionable on Tuesday. Not. At. All. Luckily, I have a closet full of things that I can mix and match easily, and that are easy care and do not require a lot of turmoil to wear. I jacked around that morning, watching a TiVoed episode of Grey's Anatomy and that kind of thing, but managed to slip into a denim pencil skirt, a blue v-neck sweater, and an eyelet cami before slipping on my brown wedges and running out the door. The thing was, however, was that my make up consisted of some tinted moisturizer, a swipe of Dallas blush, and some Burt's Bees lip balm, and my hair was actually still wet from a quick shower. I really didn't mind all of this--I have come to work looking way worse--but when I got here, I realized that our national PR guy (actually the guy who runs this hateful call every month) was in town visiting. And who does he want to meet with? Why, besides my boss, little old me, of course. All of a sudden I felt like an absolute troll. Although I only ended up having a short 15 minute or so meeting with him, I spent my day feeling uncomfortable, grouchy, and a little unhinged. Moreover, I wasn't confident with myself at all, and I think this affected the way I interacted with him.
Still feeling tired yesterday, I wore what I consider to be "The Chunky Girl Uniform." To me, that means, black jersey shirt, black trousers, and black heeled flip flops. To be a little interesting, I added a red scarf in my hair, but I was still more or less rocking the head to toe black. I went through the day feeling unimaginative and a bit dour.
This morning was a wonderful departure from that. I got up, and despite having blisters on my toes from a walk yesterday (I am fit and fabulous, despite making a poor judgement call as to what to wear to be fit and fabulous!), I decided to be my usual self. I put on a cute little dress (perfect for today's heat), a chunky turquoise necklace, and my leopard print peep toes. I got out earlier, went to the bank, and then stopped by Long's and bought a tube of mascara to last me until I reorder my DiorShow. When I walked into Long's, I saw the security guy look at my legs. Nice.
So the moral of this story is that it feels good to look nice, and really, it takes equal to or less time to look nice than it does to look crappy. I was surprised, being a person who feels like she knows the importance of looking good, at how much my clothes affected my mood. I'm not saying that this is the case for everyone. But I do wonder at how many women could be happier if they just took a few more minutes in the morning, and just saw a security guard check them out a bit more frequently.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment