That's My Bix!

One of the things that has changed between my pre- and post-sabbatical work routine, aside from the obvious (being mentally engaged 100% of the time for instance and also, being mentally occupied 100% of the time, two sides of a very lugubrious coin) is that I have definitely stepped up the efforts in my wardrobe. Ok, I wasn’t exactly a slouch before, but while before I would have shied away from wearing any of my bazillion dresses for fear that I’d have to field snide comments about interviewing from my former boss, I now wear dresses at least once a week, if not more often. It’s fun, this dressing up, thanks in large part to the fact that I also have the opportunity to work from home at least once a week, so can temper the heels and accessorizing with the fact that I usually am wearing yoga pants (the millennial version of the jogging pant) and working sans makeup the very next day.

I’ve also been trying to push out of my comfort zone, fashion-wise. I tend to wear very non-descript Wisconsinized versions of my ideal outfits, just in effort to avoid the attitude, but I’ve decided to fuck that noise and just play with clothes. Life is too short to waste the closet space on things I only wear out of state.

Last week, I had a bit of inspiration: I had recently purchased the same version of a kimono dress from Old Navy in two colors (black and purple), so I removed the purple belt on the purple one and wore it with the black one, thereby cheaply replicating the spirit of this Kiyonna dress that I’m too cheap to buy. Then, because I’m trying to allow myself to Be Quirky! with fashion (a more difficult prescription than one would think, as I kind of disdain the Quirky) or more importantly, dress as I would if I were thin (worthy of a blog post all on its own), I threw on a pair of purple tights. Purple tights! With a black dress! I KNOW! It’s totally the kind of thing that I would love on someone else, but never do myself. Look at the little sprout, how she has grown.

Apparently because I looked so cute, the universe decided that I needed to star in my very own Romantic Comedy. Enter the wacky hijinx.

The cuteness lasted approximately 45 seconds out of the door as I somehow managed to snag a fist-sized hole in the thigh of my tights when I opened the car door. Hookay. They were up high enough that they were above the hem of my dress, so I ran back into the house, figuring I could stop it with some nail polish rather than abandon the whole look with boring black tights. Smart, yes? But oh no, sadly, my four million bottles of clear nail polish were NOWHERE TO BE SEEN. Aha, but maybe I could swap out and instead try some Malaga Wine, which was approximately the same color as the tights?

This is where the wacky music would start in the Rom Com. Right here.

Now, this might have worked had I actually taken off the tights to apply the fix, but alas, I did not. I dabbed and daubed and then fanned and the holes and subsequent runs were stopped.  Woohoo! Tragedy averted!

I jumped in the car, blazed through Sbux, because at this point I was late, and then, leaving the drive through, apparently the top was not on my cup and apparently (APPARENTLY) the cup holder was not situated correctly and voila, my coffee ended up on the leg that had already received the scrape, holes and fingernail polish treatment. Has my right leg not suffered enough!??!

I tried to look on the bright side. After all, the universe can only throw so much bad luck at you, and clearly I had gotten through all of mine before 7:30 am. Right? RIGHT!?Well, mostly.

Walking into the office, I caught my reflection in the glass doors. Still cute, still totally pulled together, except for the GAPING PALE CIRCLE ON MY THIGH. Ah, so it was lower than I thought and you could totally see it when I walked. Brilliant. I would just get through the day without making a lot of trips around the office. Except that the second I sat down, blammo, GIANT WHITE CIRCLE in a field of deep purple.

And the kicker? The splotches of burgundy nail polish had also stained my legs. And were very visible through the tights, giving the appearance of gigantic red welts. I was the corporate version of Amy Winehouse, except instead of a heroin addiction, I’m woefully addicted to Mint Three Musketeers.

At some point, you just have to give up and decide that you are doomed. At lunch I went to the fat girl boutique and got some boring, black tights, through which the Malaga Wine nail polish faux bruises were only visible to the very discerning eye.

This is why I’m never going to get a job with Anna Wintour, right there.