Just half an hour before I needed to leave for Preschooler in Chief's Halloween parade yesterday, I had the best idea for a costume. I would get my old suit out of the closet. And I would wear it. And I would be a corporate attorney. No, a public relations account executive. No, an accountant. A therapist. A Wall Street analyst. A reporter attending a financial conference.
And then I put the suit on.
I would have had to be a corporate attorney, circa 1996. Or a public relations account executive, circa 1996. An accountant, circa 1996. A therapist, circa 1996. A Wall Street analyst, circa 1996. A reporter attending a financial conference, circa 1996. I always thoughts suits were supposed to be timeless. But let me tell you, the waist on these pants sat inches above my belly button. Above!! The shirt was baggy everywhere. And the jacket... Well, the jacket was just the wrong cut. Period.
Then I felt very pathetic that the only reason a suit would ever come out of my closet was for a day of dress-up. So I did what any rational girl would do. I put on my favorite, dressy pants and a matching sassy shirt. Then I grabbed my adorable Anthropologie jacket (the one Shopper Friend said exudes my essence). I put on a little lipstick and my newsboy cap. I think I looked very snazzy. No, it wasn't a Halloween costume--it wasn't a costume period. I guess I just needed an official day of dress-up to remind me that it's okay to wear nice clothes for no reason every once in a while. Clothes that represent the real me, the one inside the milky bras and yoga pants.