Today I'm choosing what I call battle gear, a subtle power outfit for the purpose of doing some business with the bank. I'd much rather be going to the dentist for a root canal, but unfortunately I'm being called upon to grease the wheels of a re-fi.
Small town banks are a joy to work with because everyone knows everyone and there's a perfect level of backslapping and "hey gal" that allows the wheels to turn just perfectly. But this is a little-bit-bigger bank that believes it must deliver some "attitude" to be taken seriously.
Seriously, they're wrong.
I've brushed up on the training course that was provided by four years of working with Maggie, my Puerto Rican friend who was the undeniable queen of assertiveness. I've picked out my power suit.....well as powerful as you can get living 9 miles from anything. The banker doesn't need to know that the Norton McNaughton jacket and Laura Ashley shell were purchased at the Goodwill.
Shoes, shoes, I have no black power pumps. Oh well, I don't remember how to walk in them anyway. Beige suede flats will just have to do the job. And for effect I'm going to wear the 2-carat Princess cut cubic zirconia. The one that fooled my neighbor Donna, the woman who knows all about diamonds. Omega chain or no omega chain. Nah, I don't feel like walking back upstairs.
How much of our lives are spent in contemplation of clothing? How many hours do we paw through the closet looking for just the right combination and just the right accessory?
I think I'm going to totally go back the to Yoko Ono method, filling my closet with all black clothing. I'll be Goth to the max. I'll have all black shoes also. So easy. Except....someone told me that every black is a slightly different shade.
Curses, foiled again!