I didn't set an alarm last night. On purpose. I woke up this morning, went back to sleep, woke up again, and finally got up. I didn't even look at my closet as I stumbled into the bathroom and showered. I still didn't look at my closet as I made a few phone calls and wrote some thank you cards. I finally looked at my closet, and I had already decided I was going to wear jeans today. Bossman in China = jeans and sundresses all week. Now to come up with a top... and shoes. I put on something. I was comfy, and super casual. I didn't care. But I kept thinking I was showing a little too much cleave for work and maybe I was a little tooooo casual. Dangit. Back to the drawing board.
How I miss the days of personal assistant-ing, when my biggest clothing concern was whether or not I had to go to "the scary store" aka Intermix at Phipps Plaza, in which case I would panic momentarily and then pretend I was some Buckhead mom fresh from my workout and carry on in the workout-esque attire I was going to wear originally. But anyway, that's not my life anymore and clearly I've moved on and don't miss it at all. Clearly. And don't mind my freakish fears. I know you have them too.
So I finally settled on a shirt that has way too much sentimental value, a new tank top underneath, and a pair of wedges that hurt my feet. A lot. It all goes together kind of, but really, none of it matches, and somehow I convinced myself before walking out of the house that I had that 'messy mismatching thing' going on. Well guess what. That lasted all of about the 45 second walk into my building, and I've spent the rest of the day wishing I had not wasted 30 minutes trying to be "creative."
And you better believe I even convinced myself this would be a GREAT outfit for my 5th of May celebrations. Well, guess who's going home to change after work?
This girl. Learn from my mistakes, and think twice before you put on a 'messy mismatching thing' and just stick with what you know. Or maybe I should take my own advice. And just so you know, tomorrow I'm wearing a tshirt. And maybe my sweatpants. At least that's what I keep threatening. Somebody has to keep things interesting around here, and I've appointed myself.
Sitting uncomfortably at my desk trying to hide my outfit from everyone even though I work with all men who tell me daily that I look wonderful,