Some days, I’m required to leave the safety and sanctuary of my office and pyjama pants to venture out into the Real World.
Amongst Other People.
I’m not talking about doing the school drop off or pick up, where my choice of attire generally involves jeans of some description, or the alternative Yoga Pant, which, quite frankly is a misnomer as not only do they help me do yoga very well at all, but they don’t even direct me towards yoga classes. They’re comfy to wear and do my semi-regular morning walks in, though, and don’t crawl up my vagina when I’m walking the kids to school, like my kids do (metaphorically speaking!)
I’m not even talking about the blog and business type events I attend from time to time, to learn more stuff, to present or speak at, or merely to take far too many photos and flood my social media feeds and piss everyone off.
I really need to get out more.
No, sometimes, I am forced to venture out and attend Very Important Meetings with others. In these cases, I am required to look professional, worldly, knowledgeable, and all that sort of guff.
Today was one of those days. I had to Corporate Up and look like I knew my shit.
This require the donning of business attire, shoes with heels, and to carry all manner of items, like a tablet or laptop (ditch that, it gave up on me sometime last year) and my compendium. I left the paper diary at home. In hindsight, I should have taken it. Never mind. I managed.
Melbourne’s fickle weather always has a way of interfering with my comfortable standard of attire when I’m placed in such situations. It’s either icy cold and wet, or, as was today, stinking hot and humid.
This also does wonders for my hair, which, whilst short, still manages to look like I’ve stuck my finger in an electric socket before being pulled backwards through a hedge. And I don’t even possess curly hair.
I donned something suitable, albeit boring, and thought about how I may inject a little bit of ‘myself’ into my corporate/business attire in the future. It’s generally contained to my socks, which are often colourful and/or quirky. Today ruled that option out.
I was, quite literally, a little black-and-white. I managed. And I looked the part, so that was a plus.
Until I managed to catch sight of myself in a full length mirror on the loos at a train station. We really must get a full length mirror for the house. This is ridiculous.
My top was in obvious need of a seeing to with an iron.
My shoes, I only just noticed, had been for a wander through a small amount of dirt or mud at some point and were showing the effects of such.
None of this was helping my already nervous, churning stomach, and stupid, anxiety-type stuff going through my head. I was under control. I just didn’t look it.
Never one to let this sort of shit beat me, because, quite frankly, I don’t put a great deal of stead in appearance.
Unfortunately, a vast majority of people do.
I had no real idea of which sort of person I was meeting, and really did want to play it safe in the Looking Important and Professional aspect.
Thankfully, my exceptionally anal Virgo-side had me some 35 minutes early for my meeting, thus affording me time to sit and think about the dilemma. The top I could get away with, because we’d be sitting for most of it.
The shoes … the shoes were bothering me, however.
I quick rifle through my bag produced a sachet or two of Libra Fresh Wipes. Most mums have a pack of tissues and some baby bum or hand wipes. Not me.
I have no idea how they got there, or why I have them.
I tend to prefer a shower.
So, there I was, sitting on the steps in the middle of Melbourne city, wiping my shoes down with a product designed specifically for vaginas, wondering if whatever was in them would damage the leather, then convincing myself that if they’re safe for twats, they’re safe for shoes, and feeling very professional, very corporate.
Very Busy and Important.