I had a big job interview yesterday. I was pretty anxious about the clothing thing. My life for the last 18 years or so has consisted of a jeans and t-shirt uniform. I liked it that way. Even the church we attended for so many years was of the casual variety - come as you are. So I came, as.I.was.
The night before the interview, I pulled out what I thought might be workable and started trying things on. It was hopeless. I bought a new bra - I guess I thought my boobs should look more professional, but when I proceeded to try clothes on with my newly shaped parts, nothing fit correctly. I went to bed with my best choice being a pink top and some brown slacks. Pink? If you know me - you know how out of character it would be for me to wear pastel pink. Oi vay!
I woke up the next morning, the day of the interview and knew I could not wear the pink. I decided it might be the bra and with that quick change, I found that everything fit me much better. Black slacks, and olive green top with a black camisole underneath and I was good to go. I even had knee highs, and nice shoes. When I left for the interview I felt pretty confident, until I noticed I was getting a wedgie. At first I was thinking it was from the slippery dress pants that I'm not accustomed to wearing. As soon as I got to the office, I checked in with the receptionist and excused myself for a moment to the restroom to check my windblown hair, and the wedgie. I was mortified to find that I had left the big folding tag on the back of the new slacks. I ripped it off and stuck it in my purse, deep enough so that should I be asked to pull out my wallet for any reason - I would not also produce the tag. And as always after using the restroom, I pulled my underwear back up. The act of pulling them down and back up is usually resolves any wedgie issues.
Then the interview. More on that later - but at one point, sitting in a very nice office in an upright chair, I felt something pricking me in the back. Prick, prick! So I moved a little, and more pricks. I knew almost instantly that it was the tag, still inside my blouse. In my nervousness to get ready - I had failed to remove any tags whatsoever. I sat there answering questions, attempting to ignore the seeming sword that was trying to run me through from behind.
I rushed home once the interview concluded to change into my Walmart uniform and head off to the job that I already have. When my shift was over, I came home and went to the bathroom and found that I must've put my underwear on wrong. I noticed a seam where it should not have been. The reason for the wedgie? The crotch of my underpants had been on my left hip all day long, and I never noticed.
So, never be fooled by how put together I might be on the outside. I really should not be allowed out of the house in real clothes.