I was in an elevator today with a nice looking lady. It was a mirrored elevator, so not looking at her was next to impossible. Here's what I saw:
She was wearing a jacket; I was wearing a jacket.
She was wearing a T-shirt; I was wearing a T-shirt.
She was wearing black pants; I was wearing a black skirt.
She was wearing black shoes with Mary-Jane style straps; I was wearing black shoes with Mary-Jane style straps.
We couldn't have looked more different.
Her jacket was a cropped blazer that nipped in smartly at her waist; mine was my husband's jean jacket with the sleeves rolled up.
Her T-shirt was white and fitted and tucked into her pants; mine was bright pink and oversized and hanging out over my skirt and below the hem of my pilfered jacket.
Her pants had a nice drape; my skirt was what a sweatshirt would be if a sweatshirt were a skirt.
Her shoes were patent leather with pointy toes and high heels; mine were ergonomically designed earth shoes.
I looked away from her - in the mirrored elevator - and to my own reflection. There were Stacy and Clinton, sitting on my shoulders like some sort of demented devils, tormenting me, "See? She still looks casual. She's still wearing a T-shirt and a jacket. There is nothing you are going to do today that you would not look perfectly appropriate doing dressed like her." Then all the mirrors in the elevator started feeling like S&C's 360 degree mirrored room and I got a little dizzy and nauseous.
The nice looking lady exited the elevator with a polite nod and smile. I think I may have flipped her off, I'm not sure.
The demonic little Stacy and Clinton followed me to my car, where they continued to berate me about buying clothes that fit and making more of an effort and how much less frumpy I'll feel when I look less frumpy and blah blah blah blah blah. At this point I stabbed Clinton in the eye with a spork that I keep in the glove box for just such situations. I tried to get Stacy, but the light deflecting off of her oh-so-chic white streak temporarily blinded me. I get random kinky little gray hairs. If only I could corral them into one nice, tidy, interesting little streak... It's because I'm lazy and undisciplined. Maybe if I paid more attention to my wardrobe...
So I sighed, and I told Stacy that I realized that the bulk of my clothing choices were unflattering. I said I was ready to make more of an effort. I told her I was ready to hear and respect her rules. I asked her for my $5,000 prepaid credit card.
Bitch disappeared so fast it made my head spin.