The Interview Outfit...(Subtitled: Another Reason to Consider Anti-depressants)
With an interview looming, I decided it was time to finally brush my teeth, hair and cobwebs off my brain and try to find an outfit that doesn't scream, "We're on the verge of food stamps!"
Off to the mall I went, though I knew I had a better chance of seeing Jesus in the shoe department than finding an ensemble that convinced potential employers that I was competent and bore no resemblance to the woman who'd just sat on her couch for the past four weeks debating which "Family Feud" host was best (Richard Dawson, duh) and wondering if and when VH1's "Behind the Music" would be airing.
I'm sure everyone has faced this familiar irony: when you have nowhere to go, stores are teeming with clothing that is not only on sale but also makes your buttocks look like two, firm cantaloupes. But... when you need something even remotely passable to wear in fewer than18 hours, the only thing you can find makes you look like the Bee Girl from that Blind Melon video.
When I first began interviewing for "real" jobs circa 1993, I was a size 2 or 4. Maybe, if I'd just eaten a bagel, I'd balloon up to a 6. Twenty years and three children later, it's quite a different story. And, let's face it, nothing can zap your confidence faster than seeing three of yourself, jaundiced by fluorescence, in underwear you've owned since the Clinton administration. If I weren't whiter than the Pillsbury Dough Boy, I could almost hear myself saying, "Precious, is that you?" What I can't hear myself saying is "You go, Big Girl! You're gonna nail it!"
Off to the mall I went, though I knew I had a better chance of seeing Jesus in the shoe department than finding an ensemble that convinced potential employers that I was competent and bore no resemblance to the woman who'd just sat on her couch for the past four weeks debating which "Family Feud" host was best (Richard Dawson, duh) and wondering if and when VH1's "Behind the Music" would be airing.
I'm sure everyone has faced this familiar irony: when you have nowhere to go, stores are teeming with clothing that is not only on sale but also makes your buttocks look like two, firm cantaloupes. But... when you need something even remotely passable to wear in fewer than18 hours, the only thing you can find makes you look like the Bee Girl from that Blind Melon video.
When I first began interviewing for "real" jobs circa 1993, I was a size 2 or 4. Maybe, if I'd just eaten a bagel, I'd balloon up to a 6. Twenty years and three children later, it's quite a different story. And, let's face it, nothing can zap your confidence faster than seeing three of yourself, jaundiced by fluorescence, in underwear you've owned since the Clinton administration. If I weren't whiter than the Pillsbury Dough Boy, I could almost hear myself saying, "Precious, is that you?" What I can't hear myself saying is "You go, Big Girl! You're gonna nail it!"
I'm at the point where I'd rather see a rattlesnake in the fitting room than a glimpse of my thighs.
While I was never fortunate enough to say, "I just had a 6-lb baby, hand me my skinny jeans," things have gotten way out of hand and apparently my visits to the YMCA aren't doing the trick.
I ended up settling on a grey dress that even Joan Harris would struggle to make look attractive but it was on sale (which seems key when you're unemployed and interviewing for a job you're 97% sure you won't get) and has great wear-again potential, particularly if a funeral should arise.
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