In which I am glamourous, as usual

I didn't want to get up this morning because, I don't know, I never want to get up in the morning.  The worst is trying to figure out what to wear.  I had a brainwave in bed and remembered about my black suede boots; it's cool enough now to wear them.  So I got up (late, as usual), took a shower and got dressed.  I put on my purple Gap dress, which is so soft and the design so simple that after I purchased it I was unsure whether it was a dress or a nightgown.  It is a little thin (being a nightgown and all), so I put my Spanx on underneath, to cover things up and er, smooth them out as well and then threw a belt over the dress. I dusted off the boots, which are still in really great shape from last year.  I sat down on the bed and put the left boot on and pulled it up to my knee.  Then I pulled the right one on.  Sort of.  I couldn't quite get my heel in it, so I lifted my leg and the boot straight up in the air and pulled.  No luck.  I stomped on the floor with my right foot, but nothing.  I stood up and leaned against the wall and tried to slide my heel in.  Nope.

Much swearing.

Finally, I grabbed the heel of the boot and wiggled it and the heel of my foot.  Something gave and my foot slid all the way in.  Loud sigh and residual swearing.  Then I tried to pull the boot up to my knee.  Huh-uh.  It got stuck.  Try as I might, I couldn't get it over my calf.  What the hell?  I mean, I know I've gained weight, but all in my right calf?   I tugged harder.  No dice.

Now I'm really late for work, so I just give up and figure maybe I can fix it in the car.  I grab my bag - the new one from H&M.  I love this bag - black patent faux crocodile.  It was really inexpensive, is trendy and fairly well put together.  I assumed it was a handbag when I bought it, but after I got home and looked at the receipt I saw it was a "Toilet Bag".  I don't know what that is, but I assume it is supposed to be a bag for your toiletries when you are traveling.  It doesn't have an inordinate amount of pockets or anything, though.  And it looks like a handbag, so that is what I use it as.

So I rush to work, alternately yelling at slow drivers and busses (3 of them!  All in front of me!) and trying to pull up my boot at all the stop lights.  Still unsuccessful.

I arrive at work and make my way down through the parking garage and to the lobby, walking quickly so no one notices my boot, which is now slouching dejectedly around my ankle like a sullen teenager.  Once I get to my office, I put my leg up on the desk (hoping that all the blood will run into my hip, thus making my calf smaller), then simultaneously check my email and dig through my bag for some lotion.  Maybe I can slather some on my leg and pull the boot up that way. While I have my body contorted to keep my leg up on the desk I feel my Spanx rolling down. More swearing.  I find the lotion and try it, but no luck.  I'm going to need some sort of industrial strength lubricant.  I try hand sanitizer.  It burns my freshly shaved legs, but doesn't help the boot.  I search my desk and find Sortkwik.  It can't hurt to try, I think.  It always works when I'm going through the bills.  But this doesn't do the trick either.  

Maybe I need to stretch the calf of the boot out - like it shrunk over the summer or something.  I scan the office for an appropriate stretching implement.  My beanie baby?  No, it'd be really hard to explain to anyone why I had a pink bunny hanging out of my right boot.  Ah!  My Staples button!  It is the perfect shape and is firm enough to stretch something.  I stick it in my boot and go about my work.  Every time I change my position or cross my feet under my chair, I hear "THAT was easy!"

I give up.  

I pull the boot up as far up my calf as it will go.  I check myself out in the window of my office. One leg looks great, like a catalog model. The other looks like there is bread baking in my boot. This is when I notice my hair is sticking up.  Now, my hair is supposed to sort of stick up in the back a little bit, kind of like a tame punk rocker.  Instead, it's sticking up in the middle and I look like Tweety Bird.  Every time I try to mash it down it just pops right back up. 

   

Whenever I stepped out of my office today, I had to yank up my boot, mash down my hair and tug on my Spanx.  I made it through the day in this uber-glamourous state and scurried out of the office with relief only to realize that I had to stop at the pharmacy on the way home.  I sighed as I pulled into the parking lot, got out of my car, made a failed attempt to smooth down my hair, pulled up my boot and hiked up my Spanx.  

I made my way into the store, found what I needed and then saw Tom - a guy I met at a party and er, made out with.  A couple of times.  I kind of still have a crush on him, although he is, how shall I say?  Less than honorable.  Best to just keep my distance, I thought.  So I ended up lurking around the sale racks until he left in order to avoid being seen by him.  I realize this is not really a very mature thing to do, but, when I run into old flames, I want them to see me looking sexy and sophisticated, not like Tweety Bird in a belted nightgown with one slouchy boot, carrying a toilet bag.

While I was hiding from him, next to the bags of leftover Halloween chocolates, I developed an attachment to a bag of miniature Hershey bars with almonds.  I knew it would love me no matter what I looked like.  I grabbed it and went to the register, completed my purchases, went home and gratefully changed my clothes.