This morning when I got to work, I mentioned to my boss (one of them, anyway) that he smelled nice, which he did (very subtle amount of cologne done right, which few men manage to pull off).
He thanked me, and then informed me of the a giant, disgusting wad of dog hair stuck to the front of my dress.
Sometimes I feel like I am really just pretending with this whole dress-like-a-grownup thing. It’s like a costume I have trouble pulling off, rather like if I tried to be a pirate simply by dressing like a pirate. No one would be buying my act.
And sometimes I feel more than a little like Pig-Pen.
I am in awe of the women I know who are both amazingly talented at the work they do, AND manage to look wonderfully put-together and ironed and fresh every day at work (like the woman CEO of my company, whom I idolize just a little because she’s so inspiring and nice and talented). I am not sure how they do it.
But yeah. Dog hair. On my dress. Oh well. It’s not as bad as the day I wore my skirt inside out to a previous job. That was a bad one.