I have a wedding to attend as a guest tomorrow night. It’s a plane ride away, so, I’ll be traveling. As excited as I am about it, I’m also slightly, sort of, just a little bit, freaking out. I have an agenda to make a good impression. I had an outfit in mind that I was going to buy the shoes for, a particular manicure, a new clutch; I envisioned myself in a fresh outfit I would feel super confident in.
Alas, ’twas all a fantasy.
My work week ended up filling itself to the brim. This past week’s cup runneth over to say the least. I’m pretty sure my brain is more fried from working so hard, fake smiling so hard and repeating myself so much, than it could ever be fried from drugs. Needless to say, it’s Friday evening; I’m doing a load of laundry with no nails done, no new shoes, no self-tan and running on a granola bar lunch.
So, that’s why I’m kind of, sort of freaking out. Then, of course, in the midst of all this, I’m writing a post.
So, there’s been a change of plans since I thought up the idea of getting new shoes for the perfect dress. Plan B is in full gear. I’m wearing a dress that’s “nice enough” with shoes I’m not too happy about, a purse that always opens when I least expect it to and at the worst times. Jewelry? A necklace I plucked from my others.
So, here’s the question: How do I look at the outfit I’m packing now and try to feel as confident as I need to be tomorrow to make a nice impression?
Well, I’m crossing my fingers tightly and trying to reframe my mind into a picture that says, “look into my eyes, listen to what I’m saying and how polite I am, instead of inspecting my clothes.” Shocker right? How trivial am I? Worrying about my outfit while a couple is experiencing the greatest moment of their lives?
I theorize my answer is memories. I think back to the time a girl in middle school called me out and proclaimed my shoes as “imitations,” which they were. I remember when a girl asked me where I got my shoes and I confidently said, “Ross,” and the girl laughed with her buddies, saying, “I didn’t know they had cute shoes at Ross!” I was dazed. I had never been insulted simply for shopping at a store. Oh how mean the girls could be back then.
It can be worse as a woman when it happens. Now, you run your own life, wear your choices on your sleeves, you literally wear what you can afford, you primp as much as you have time for. Let’s face it, a full time working woman just can’t lay around all day fermenting beauty. There’s no time. There’s no energy. So, we do our best to keep up with the ads.
When another woman called my beautiful, twinkly clutch from Anthropology, which was a special Christmas gift, a Rice Krispie treat in front of my fiancé, I decided the use of the degrading word, bi#%*, was actually appropriate in this case. No, I didn’t say it, but I thought it.
I know these people were crazy, mean and probably have some issues. I can say I don’t care, that it doesn’t affect me, but apparently, it still does. Why else would I be kind of, sort of, maybe, freaking out on a Flamingo Friday?
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