Every Sunday night I step into my closet to plan my wardrobe for the work week. The outfits I pick are based on a number of factors: what meetings are scheduled, if it's after Labor Day, how high the AC will be running in my office, and, of course, how good my pedicure is holding up for open-toe shoes. Now, I don't hold myself strictly accountable in case I do something silly like plan to wear a polo with khakis on a day that's not a Friday.
This little exercise usually makes my mornings go a bit smoother. Even though there's no more pouring Fruity Pebbles for the kids, I do have a number of other duties to conquer in the morning: exercise, vetsulin shots for Percy, prayers, shower, makeup, Gayle King, etc. Sometimes there's a hitch that throws my schedule off. The dog pukes in the garage. The cat needs my love more than ever. The hubby needs my love more than ever. But the biggest hitch to my morning routine seems to be when an outfit doesn't come together. And, as you already know, this is after I've already planned it out!
I've never been accused of having OCD. Anyone who has opened my cupboards knows this. But I wonder if have a bit of a disorder when comes to attire. Take this morning for example.
Because I knew it was going to be a little cooler today, I was excited to wear my new plaid dress pants from the rubi j store (a charming boutique in DT Harlan, Iowa*). But when I put on the shirt I wanted to wear with said pants, I was sorely disappointed with the sight before me. A gut and a muffin top was all I could see. "What in the hell good did all this summer running do?" I said to myself. So, after berating my middle-aged self, I whipped it off to regroup. A voice from the bed (which has a clear visual into the closet) told me I should probably consider changing my bra as well. While I appreciated the suggestion, I didn't have time to reconsider my underclothes. I had a shirt to find.
Next shirt: Same color (off white). Slightly different style. Same result. Yes, the definition of idiocy is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result. Thank you Mr. Einstein.
Next shirt: Orange, perhaps to celebrate the first day of fall? It sure seemed like a good idea until I put it on and became a pumpkin-pie-headed freak.
I began to panic, and went back to my original choice. Maybe I was being too hard on myself. I was not.
Finally, in the deep recesses of my closet, I found a cute dusty rose camisole that passed inspection. It did require a strapless bra (to go over my non-strapless bra) because it was a little low cut. Not a problem. Finally, it was ago.
I was off to work, speeding happily on M16 when I happened to look down and noticed my strapless bra slipping, slipping, slipping. It had fallen to my stomach. I had no choice. I had to zip back home and change into a different, more reliable strapless bra that Doug was quick to help me find. (Such a sport...)
Five minutes later...
I was back on to M16, happily speeding once again when I looked at the color of the ponytail holder on my wrist. Horrors. I grabbed a brown one. You see, all my accent colors were black. I glanced at the clock and made an important decision. I'd have to let this one go. Chances were I wouldn't even use the ponytail holder.
Now, I'm a fairly rational and somewhat intelligent person. I read the news and understand that there are issues in the world that matter and what I wear to work on any given day isn't going to help Haitian refugees.
But here's the deal. We are all just human. And sometimes we cling on to those little things that give us a sliver of creative control, even if it does take several iterations to get it right. I'll tell you one thing about it: my hubby never seems to mind.
*shameless plug for my mother's store
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| Ah! Family Picture Day. That was a good day to plan an outfit. |
