Wardrobe Change

You know what's funny about being a public-sector development consultant and a fitness trainer? The uniforms are totally different.

For one job, it's all about the flattering trousers and blouses from the clearance rack at TJ Maxx. For the other job, it's all about full body spandex from the clearance rack at TJ Maxx. Same store, very different looks. And I don't know if you know this, but spandex is a ridiculous b*&^% to put on and take off.

Most days, I'm doing some form of both jobs. Like yesterday, it went like this:

6am-10am: Personal Train 4 people
10:15am-2:15pm: Consult about a bridge project
4pm-5pm: Train an office full of financial advisors
6pm-8pm: Annual Meeting for consulting job

And somewhere in between all that, I was picking up kids, dropping off kids, leaving kids crying on city curbs, getting parking tickets, and eating 3 chocolate chip cookies the size of my face.

Right now my life is like a puzzle with wrinkles and zits. I mean really, is this middle school or middle age? Don't even get me started about zits popping up IN wrinkles because I swear I will cut Mother Nature--I'll cut her with a knife.

So my schedule. It requires all kinds of quick wardrobe changes, and much like SuperMan, I've taken to layering up and ripping off suits in very public places.

A typical outfit is a sports bra, spandex shorts, and a solid colored tee-shirt as the base layer. Black trouser pants, a black suit jacket, and pearls are the preferred over layer--very awkward when a Nike swoosh peeks out near the lapel, but hey, STOP LOOKING AT MY BOOBS!

Runnning shoes and ballet flats. One pair on my feet, the other in my purse. Always barefoot. Yes, it's stinky--but it expedites the switcharoo. And that's the first priority right now--switcharoo expiditation.

So yesterday, as I previously mentioned, I had my annual meeting for the day job. I did a quick wardrobe change in the front seat of my car and walked into the restuarant banquet room with 1 minute to spare. I looked good, I smelled kind of bad, and dang it felt like I had a load in my pants.

But I was late. They funneled me straight to the presenter's podium--no time to investigate.

When I finished my presentation and went back to my chair, my sitting felt kind of lumpy. Well, very lumpy--like maybe I was sitting on a rumpled up cloth napkin. But I wasn't, I checked.

Finally, after the 2 hour meeting wrapped up, I waddled out to my car like Maggie (you know--a toddler with a diaper hanging down to their knees because their mother belongs to a church called The Church of I'll Only Change You for a Poop). There, I was met by a very chatty woman. Who only likes to chat about work related issues. And I had a TV waiting for me at home. You know how this goes.

Only 2 minutes into the chat, I kept picturing myself punching her in the face. I played out the scene through like a slo-mo movie, then like a loony toon, and then like I was Jackie Chan--actually opting to round house kick her in the face rather than a plain old punch.

Finally, when I could stand no more, I lost my judgement. I reached my hand down my pants, pulled out the culprit--a single brown sock, looked her right in the eye and asked, "Do you ever find stray socks in your underpants? I JUST did!" Then I held it up so she could see.

She did that awkward howamisupposedtolaughrightnow laugh, excused herself and drove away.

And I finally got home to my dear, sweet TV.

Then I wore pajamas.