Woman One: She looks effortlessly chic. Moves with grace. Always seems "put together".
Woman Two: She stumbles occasionally. Realizes a button is undone. Mixes up her words.
And then there's me. I can only aspire to be like Woman Two.
I am the one that is in front of you in the queue, tries to be quick and, in the process of pulling her purse out, drops all her change, 5 tampons and a kid's toy.
I take off my bag that I wore cross body and get the strap completely tangled up in my scarf. Queue a dance of untangling and trying not to strangulate myself. I swear, my colleagues try not to laugh when I come into the office in the morning.
I regularly bang my hips into doorframes, tables and other furniture. Do I really think they're even more boyish than they already are?!
I'm a bit lazy and want to take my bra off without removing my top. Instead of saving the one minute I could have saved, I spend 5 minutes getting so hopelessly tangled up in my bra, top and vest top that I need to call Mr G for help.
I could go on. But I won't in the hope that I can retain some sort of illusion that sometimes I do look chic or put together.
I just would like a bit more of what Woman One has.
No comments:
Post a Comment