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Real Clothes Make Me Crabby

March 16, 2011

When my very funny friend Meg started a FB status with this phrase, I knew instantly that I had to steal borrow it!

I have always had a love-hate relationship with clothes.  I love them in the store, on the mannequin, on other people, even on the hanger-I hate them on me.  Before I started working from home and running board meetings in my pajamas, I actually had to wear real clothes everyday.  Don’t get me wrong, I have never had a job where I had to “dress up” daily-that is my idea of hell, but I did have to wear something  other than  flannel or cotton drawstring pants and a threadbare Packer t-shirt to work.

I have worked in both a day care and elementary school, these positions required a lot of crawling around on the floor as well as dealing with all things messy and gross (i.e. finger paint, paste, disgusting kid fluids, etc…), so the more comfortable and stain resistant the better.  I was very excited when I started working in a hospital,  I thought it would be like E.R.(this was way before McDreamy ever entered the picture), those pale blue cotton surgical scrubs looked both comfortable and cool.   Come to find out my position required me to wear purple scrubs, bright purple at that-I looked like a cross between Barney and Grimace.  The best thing about scrubs is that they are virtually indestructible, they should make airplanes out of this material, 12 hour shifts of wear and tear, throw them in the wash and they are just as purple and obnoxious as the day you bought them.  I just realized I have spent far too much of my life covered in puke, pee, poop and blood, as the mother of two kids I don’t foresee that ending anytime soon.

When I moved to New York and began working in Manhattan I mistakenly thought I would be magically transformed into some hip, fashionista by way of immersion alone.  The streets of NYC are full of people who sacrifice comfort in the name of fashion and every single one of them in horribly uncomfortable shoes.  I think I bought a pair of shoes a week for the first 3 months I lived there, I have never walked so much in my life and my feet constantly hurt.  Khakis and cotton oxford shirts or sweaters and boring loafers became my uniform, I skated the thin line between business casual and waiter at Dennys.

The fact that I never liked how I looked in clothes may have contributed to my general crabbiness when forced to wear them.  I have come to find out many of my friends who look great in real clothes would rather wear stretchy, workout wear any day than pull on a pair of tight fitting, albeit stylish jeans.  Could it be that unforgiving waistbands are just as painful when they dig into slim, toned waists as they are to those with considerable more padding?  This is a concept I have never considered!  Now I do know a handful of people who actually get dressed in completely coordinated outfits all the way down to makeup, shoes and stockings, even when they are not going to a wedding, funeral, job interview or court.  Part of me wishes I had that drive to always look so put together-then I look at my comfy yoga pants and decide that they kick SPANX ass every time.

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