how to dress for success
So I went shopping yesterday with my BFF from the old days, when I was in the PTA and had to pretend I was a pillar of the community. We ended up snagging my Kansas SCBWI Conference toggery.
It was a tussle.
Seems the word “conference” confused the stuffing out of my non-children’s-writer friend. I tried on various permutations of blouses, tank tops, jackets and sweaters.
“That looks good. Very slimming,” said BFF.
“Oh I like that one. You look so professional,” said BFF.
“I do? Forget it!” I don a goth t-shirt with flowing wrap. “Oooo. This one. Do they have it in blacker?”
My BFF said, “…”
It’s not her fault. She’s a grown-up. Works in a real office, with a boss and budgets and all that drudgery. Wears pantyhose and lined jackets.
I can’t imagine.
Next, the purse. I won’t bore you with the particulars. Suffice to say, BFF pushed really hard for this:
And I ended up with this:
By the time we got to the reading glasses at the bookstore, BFF swore off giving me any more opinions. (Oh, please. Pull the other one. You done stretched this one as far as it will go.)
I had it down to two: a royal blue pair that made my sunken green eyes pop strikingly, and a bizarre pair of aqua steampunkish glasses crafted in awesome.
“Lisha, you’ve got to get the blue ones. They make your eyes shimmer!” BFF looked at me like I’d eaten her last tic-tac. Which I had, but that didn’t have anything to do with the glasses.
“Nope.” I took the steampunkery glasses to the register.
“You’re making a mistake,” BFF said, all Jacob Marley.
“I can look gorgeous, *cough* or I can look like I’ve got a million stories to tell.”
I paid the cashier and walked out the door with the price tag dangling from the nose piece.
My BFF loves it when I do stuff like that.