As many of you know, I'm headed back to 'work' (like I haven't been working, right?) and I started this week. So there have been many things to juggle: daycare, logistics of dropoff and pickup, wardrobe issues (maternity t-shirts stained with many DNA samples are apparently not appropriate for work, I guess?), and the concept of a professional work environment. These are just the more obvious issues, but these changes have all hit AT ONCE. Not only am I thrust back into the work world, I haven't really had any time to prepare or adjust.
We've had houseguests for a few weeks now, and it's been the most wonderful part of our summer. I loves me a full house. The kids woke up without anyone (extra) here and didn't quite know what to do with themselves. They were stuck with just me. All that said, it's been a nonstop ride, and I hadn't had time to ease myself into it.
SO. Work consisted of three days this week and I started it off with one pair of shorts that fit and one pair of (very stained) capri pants. I knew that I had to shop, and fast. Target was not going to cut it this time (and I had checked the store and it was still tank top summertime fun) and I knew that bargain shopping for 5 hours wasn't going to happen either. I am a clearance-rack girl. I'll spend the time. I'll put in the effort to try on random pieces, then find other random pieces to go with them. I'll pride myself in spending $78 for 5 items.
Those days are gone, baby, gone.
I decided, after rummaging around a very discombobulated chain store with clothes strewn everywhere, that perhaps I should try something a bit more upscale. Don't get me wrong, I found a few cute pieces (read: crazy-ass clearance rack shopping) but I was growing tired from the hunt and the 19 year old salesgirl was totally giving me the stink-eye. Later at the checkout it was revealed that she was like, totally pissed because she worked a double and he's like totally asked her too many times and no one else will friggin' take the double shift so she's stuck picking up after everyone and doing the work that they should have done the day before and she hasn't even had time for a break and that is all I will write because we were all 19 once and famous for journalling our shit in front of strangers.
So. Like a moth to a flame, Ann Taylor and her friend Talbots, beckoned me forth. Yes, Ann Taylor. Yes, I will pay $28 for a camisole so my boobies aren't so obvious at school. Yes, Talbots, I will try most earnestly to not chuckle at a $168 handbag the size of my ankle in your clearance bin. Aside: the clearance racks at these stores are not even in the same league as the discount chains. They are where you can find either ridiculous steals or ridiculous excuses for clearance prices. Sorry, $70 for a pair of stretchy brown work pants on the clearance rack? I'd be mad, but you wrap up all my shit in that pretty paper and put a cute sticker on it to keep it all ensemble. Oh, and the vanity sizing, Ann Taylor Loft? I'm down. I know you're a bunch of big fat liars, but I'm down. And I'll put it all on the credit card, thankyouverymuch.
The salespeople really know their stuff. They can smell pokes like me as soon as I walk in. They know I'm desperate. They know I'm time-starved. They know I'll pay to get in, get served, and get the hell out. And they are right. It hit me, as I was leaving with a bag of tissue-wrapped goodies, that THIS was why people spent more at stores like this. It was easier. It was fun. And I was treated like a princess. "Can I get you another size?" "Would you like to try that in another color?" "Would you like me to watch the children while you go and get some alone time?"
Or, no, sorry, wrong fantasy.
It was a bit of a dreamy experience. It made the rest of the workweek all the more relaxed. Although I didn't wear my new digs this week (the new clothes are hanging in the closet like a shiny trophy though), I did feel ready for at least some of this change.
And I wore a really long shirt with my capris.
We've had houseguests for a few weeks now, and it's been the most wonderful part of our summer. I loves me a full house. The kids woke up without anyone (extra) here and didn't quite know what to do with themselves. They were stuck with just me. All that said, it's been a nonstop ride, and I hadn't had time to ease myself into it.
SO. Work consisted of three days this week and I started it off with one pair of shorts that fit and one pair of (very stained) capri pants. I knew that I had to shop, and fast. Target was not going to cut it this time (and I had checked the store and it was still tank top summertime fun) and I knew that bargain shopping for 5 hours wasn't going to happen either. I am a clearance-rack girl. I'll spend the time. I'll put in the effort to try on random pieces, then find other random pieces to go with them. I'll pride myself in spending $78 for 5 items.
Those days are gone, baby, gone.
I decided, after rummaging around a very discombobulated chain store with clothes strewn everywhere, that perhaps I should try something a bit more upscale. Don't get me wrong, I found a few cute pieces (read: crazy-ass clearance rack shopping) but I was growing tired from the hunt and the 19 year old salesgirl was totally giving me the stink-eye. Later at the checkout it was revealed that she was like, totally pissed because she worked a double and he's like totally asked her too many times and no one else will friggin' take the double shift so she's stuck picking up after everyone and doing the work that they should have done the day before and she hasn't even had time for a break and that is all I will write because we were all 19 once and famous for journalling our shit in front of strangers.
So. Like a moth to a flame, Ann Taylor and her friend Talbots, beckoned me forth. Yes, Ann Taylor. Yes, I will pay $28 for a camisole so my boobies aren't so obvious at school. Yes, Talbots, I will try most earnestly to not chuckle at a $168 handbag the size of my ankle in your clearance bin. Aside: the clearance racks at these stores are not even in the same league as the discount chains. They are where you can find either ridiculous steals or ridiculous excuses for clearance prices. Sorry, $70 for a pair of stretchy brown work pants on the clearance rack? I'd be mad, but you wrap up all my shit in that pretty paper and put a cute sticker on it to keep it all ensemble. Oh, and the vanity sizing, Ann Taylor Loft? I'm down. I know you're a bunch of big fat liars, but I'm down. And I'll put it all on the credit card, thankyouverymuch.
The salespeople really know their stuff. They can smell pokes like me as soon as I walk in. They know I'm desperate. They know I'm time-starved. They know I'll pay to get in, get served, and get the hell out. And they are right. It hit me, as I was leaving with a bag of tissue-wrapped goodies, that THIS was why people spent more at stores like this. It was easier. It was fun. And I was treated like a princess. "Can I get you another size?" "Would you like to try that in another color?" "Would you like me to watch the children while you go and get some alone time?"
Or, no, sorry, wrong fantasy.
It was a bit of a dreamy experience. It made the rest of the workweek all the more relaxed. Although I didn't wear my new digs this week (the new clothes are hanging in the closet like a shiny trophy though), I did feel ready for at least some of this change.
And I wore a really long shirt with my capris.
1 comment:
Back to work . . . ? Enjoy! ;>)
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