Ode to the Working Girl

Why can't I just be like other women? When I'm walking to work in DC I see women in business suits, cute cable neck vest type things with collared shirts underneath, pleated skirts, high heels, herringbone pants and Dooney & Bourke bags.

When I'm trying to decide what to wear in the morning I have to look real hard at my clothes and try to determine what I could away with as "business casual." Too bad that most of my wardrobe is old t-shirts, and nothing would please me more than to wear jeans and Birkenstocks (I do tempt the fates and wear the Birks anyway!).

The average business-like shirt at J.Crew or Banana Republic is at least $80, give or take a few clams. Dumping all that money on one article of clothing makes me feel simply queasy. I'm not hurting for money or eating out of the trash can yet (although maybe I should be, looking at how much money left in loans I have to pay back… thanks again, law school), but it just seems like such a waste of money. When I started working, my mother suggested that I put aside some money from my paycheck each month for new clothes and accessories. New clothes and accessories? Does she know who I am? I still sometimes wear clothes from middle school!

And hair… how do these women get the energy to blow dry, straighten, or whatever else before work in the morning? When I put my mind to it, my hair can look pretty decent. Notice that I said, "when I put my mind to it," meaning that most days you'll find me sporting a bun.

These super women are also thin. No, not thin… lean! I must think about weight more now than I ever did in college; there has got to be something wrong with that. Why now? Why not in college when I could have been romping and frolicking free in all my lean splendor?

I know the only thing that will work is if I set my alarm for 30 minutes earlier, get my lazy, tired ass out of bed, throw on some gym clothes, go down to the first floor gym, and burn some calories. But I hate it. I hate everything about it. I'd rather go to the dentist. I'd rather go to the National Postal Museum. I'd rather give a public speech on sexually transmitted diseases! I hate the feeling before going to the gym (that I'd rather be doing anything else, I hate walking into the gym and feeling all eyes on me, I hate the workout (sweating, body parts bouncing, etc), and of course the after (when you have to wait to stop sweating before you can even take a shower).

Maybe there's no hope for me after all!