It's 100 degrees in North Texas this week, but it's only about 72 degrees in my office. Our whole floor is always cold. Getting dressed every morning is a pain in the ass. I have to find something I won't be sweltering in as I'm walking in from the parking lot, but warm enough to keep me from turning on my space heater during the day in the office. Seasonally-appropriate is always a challenge, too, and then there's the matter of whether I have any big meetings for which I might want to cover my tattoos.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided that I would just wear the first thing I put on, as long as it was clean and it matched. I figured I'm really the only person who cares that much about what I wear. As long as I'm meeting a minimum standard of presentability, nobody really notices. I made a rule that if, after I get dressed, I want to change, it better be because something is stretched out, too worn, has holes, or doesn't fit, and therefore I can't keep that item of clothing anymore. It was a good choice. My closet is getting pared down to just the stuff I actually wear, and I've decided I have enough clothes that I really don't need to buy anything unless I need to replace a staple (like a black, short-sleeved shirt).
I love the weekends, because I get to hang around in shorts and tank tops, and I don't have to wear shoes. Really, I don't think I've ever stopped living like a college student at home, even to the point that the husband made fun of me last week when I said I really needed to do laundry this weekend because I'm out of clean underwear. I love that we can laugh at each other. He makes me feel so accepted.
I guess that's the whole point of this musing -- needing to feel accepted the way I am, and the frustration that you can't just go to work in pajamas. I know, right? Who says I ever have to grow up?
