Well, That Did Nothing For My Self-Esteem...
By toblackbeltandbeyond on July 24, 2013
I am going through a transition.
When people go through a life transition (new job, new baby, new spouse, etc...) there are other things in life that suffer. They have to because of all the time and concentration it takes while you find your new "normal."
It happens to everyone.
I, too, am going through a transition. I got a job. I knew it meant things that I felt were slightly less important would have to suffer. I guess I underestimated just how much it would suffer. Circumstances just told me to, "Wake the eff up, Sweetheart."
My new job is a working-from-home gig. It is pretty sweet, I cannot tell a lie. Not perfect, but pretty damn good. I do not have to pay a babysitter or make the equivalent of a mortgage payment to a day care facility. That does mean I have to learn how to juggle my two kids while I email, attend GoToMeeting conferences, conduct Skype sessions and have phone calls with students. It's a transition. Something had to give.
I picked my daily appearance.
Now, let me clarify, I am not talking about showering less. I have not sunk to the level of the stinkiest person in the house (this time). But let's just say, on the days that I know no one will have to view me via webcam, I take "business casual" down to "mommy casual." Basically, my make-up bag collects dust, my hair gets pulled back into a ponytail, and I live in T-shirts and some sort of shorts/capris/jeans. Additionally, on the days that I have karate, I typically decide to just start rocking the sports bra early. It's not pretty, but it's convenient.
So, I woke up one day last week greeted by four brand new, ridiculously huge (and not to mention angry) pimples. They were so big, that I swear it looked like I was growing four whole, new PEOPLE out of my chin. Just in time for my trip to the out-ot-state company office to meet my new co-workers. Awesome.
I had karate later that day so I decided to throw on my sports bra, my karate t-shirt and a pair of capri jeans that fit better when I wore a bigger size. [Sidebar: Yes, I know that capris, in themselves, are typically NOT flattering on anyone larger than a size 2, and only when they fit correctly.] It probably was not my best choice of pants for that day.
During the day, I needed to take my dog out so I threw her on a leash, grabbed my phone to catch up on the news (read: check out what was new and trending on Twitter), and headed outside. I was outside for just a few minutes when I heard a truck start to roll by. It was an older truck that probably could have used a new muffler back in 1979, so it grabbed my attention.
As I cocked my head upwards, I saw that the passenger was furiously rolling down her window. Manually. Needless to say, it took a minute to accomplish this task. However, once completed, she began jumping in her seat and waving furiously in my direction out of the passenger side window. She then started screaming, "HIIIIIIIIII MARCUSSSSSSSSSSS! MARCUS!!!! HIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!" at the top of her lungs, in my direction. Due to her excitement, I lifted my head fully and gave her a questioning look (because, let's face it, the first thought in my head was, "Who the f#@% is she screaming at?")
It was at the moment that I showed my face fully, that she and I both realized the same thing, at the same time. We both realized that she thought I was Marcus. A guy.
And I. Am. Not.
Yep, this is totally how I felt. It's like I am looking in a damn mirror... Oh, and P.S. I am NOT talking about Donatella's papier mache cleavage, either...
Her body snapped to the forward position quicker than I can flick my son's ear. As she reached down to begin the process of furiously rolling the window back up, I heard her pleading with the driver of the truck, "But she looked just like Marcus! I completely thought it was him!!!"
I watched the truck roar its engine to slowly roll away, all I could think of was, "Well, that did nothing for my self-esteem..."
I have since made the decision to never, ever, ever wear those capri jeans, again. And to reserve the sports bra for karate, only. Where they know I am a girl.
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