I've been working for several weeks, mostly from home and coffee shops waiting for space to open up at the family practice clinic where I'll eventually spend the majority of my time. Making space for a piddly grant project for social work isn't exactly at the top of the food chain, if you know what I'm saying. It's actually pretty exciting to scope out a new space. You know...meet all my new peeps, find the best bathroom, figure out a place to pump where I won't get boob-burgled and accidentally traumatize the burglar.
More importantly, however, is the choosing of the first day of school outfit. Truthfully, I wanted to go fairly conservative. I hate to use stereotypes, but the last thing I want to do is be the weird new girl with the orange flare skirt, purple scarf, and turquoise arm warmers amid an office full of tan grandma naturalizers. So I went with a brown cable-knit sweater, khaki skirt with demure pink stripes, and brown tights. Not so bad, right?
Because my work-appropriate outfit called for work-appropriate shoes...the stodgy crappers that have been sequestered in the back of my closet for who knows how long. My nerves got the best of me and I made a bad move. Instead of tossing the crappers out the window, I put them on, walked out the door, and have subsequently spent the last 7 hours in complete repulsion. I suppose the thought of being in an office again under the florescent bulbs totally freaked me out and I choked. I cannot even look down at my feet without feeling the urge to vomit, and it's taking all my might not to convulsively shake them off my feet like they were made of mouse poop. I feel like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada...except that I'm playing Andy Sachs AND Miranda Priestly.