Today we went to the mall to escape the heat and also to look for some "professional" clothing for me to wear to a job interview on Tuesday. It's predictable, really. Every time I decide to look for a new job, I realize that I need a suit to wear to interviews and so I go on a frantic, stressed out shopping trip that inevitably ends with me throwing up my hands in defeat, going home and picking a non-suit outfit from my closet. I'm terrible with clothes, just like I'm terrible with decorating. In high school, my friends used to quote that line from Heathers where Shannen Doherty says to Winona Ryder, "You can't accessorize for shit." They weren't being mean, they were laughing with me because it's completely true.
After I decided against buying a beautiful black skirt suit from BR (because I honestly can't afford the $300 right now, even though I can hear that evil Shopaholic girl in my head saying, "It's an investment in your career!" I NEVER should have read those books), I went home and tried on my old standby, a lovely pants suit that I always forget about. I love that suit because it's always a surprise and it's always flattering. Except this time it didn't fit. The pants were too tight everywhere.
Horror. Shame. Self loathing.
Overwhelmed with mortification, I fled to the basement with the half pint of Haagen-Dazs light cookies n' cream that's been hiding in the freezer for the past two weeks, intending to drown my sorrows. What is it with ice cream and self pity? It never makes anything better, especially if the issue is weight-related. Lunchboy sat with me, patiently listening to me moan about the fact that I'm 31 and I don't have any decent clothing, and the clothing I do have doesn't fit, and I don't own any pumps and really I should just be shot for being a failure as a modern woman. Alas, alack, woe is me. Then he told me I was beautiful, brought me back upstairs, fed me Haagen Dazs and helped me pick an outfit. It's not a suit but hopefully the company won't toss me out on my behind for dressing too casually. Really, who needs suits for writing positions anyway? Aren't we supposed to be all arty and creative and shit?
It's too hot. I need a drink and then it will all be better.