The Rites of Spring
It's spring in Chicago. Finally. Break out the light jackets and warm-weather clothes. Not that it matters. My office building is the same temperature year-round: refrigerated. However (because I am philosophically opposed to the air-conditioning in my car) what I wear for the day's hour of commuting matters.
There's something so nice about slipping into sandals for work. Seems like it takes half the stress and at least a minute out of getting dressed in the morning.
However, the warmer seasons reveal my ineptitude at those trappings of female-dom necessitated by social expectation. I've been wearing sandals without toenail polish for a whole week. Scandalous! And the most fashion-conscious of my colleagues has noticed my shoes EVERY DAY this week. And those naked toes. Well, here's to skipping the gym to paint my toenails. How pathetic.
I've never been hung up on my appearance. I'm always clean, usually stylish and often a little bit funky. I've never paid much attention to the numbers except as tools for selecting the right sizes. Regardless, I inherited a bit of vanity from Grandma Phyllys.
I've been working out. Because it feels good. And people have been noticing. At least once a day, someone mentions that I look thinner. It's good for the ego.
A group of guys actually wolf-whistled me yesterday. That's never happened before. I keep asking my inner feminist if she's offended, but she's not answering …
It's spring in Chicago. Finally. Break out the light jackets and warm-weather clothes. Not that it matters. My office building is the same temperature year-round: refrigerated. However (because I am philosophically opposed to the air-conditioning in my car) what I wear for the day's hour of commuting matters.
There's something so nice about slipping into sandals for work. Seems like it takes half the stress and at least a minute out of getting dressed in the morning.
However, the warmer seasons reveal my ineptitude at those trappings of female-dom necessitated by social expectation. I've been wearing sandals without toenail polish for a whole week. Scandalous! And the most fashion-conscious of my colleagues has noticed my shoes EVERY DAY this week. And those naked toes. Well, here's to skipping the gym to paint my toenails. How pathetic.
I've never been hung up on my appearance. I'm always clean, usually stylish and often a little bit funky. I've never paid much attention to the numbers except as tools for selecting the right sizes. Regardless, I inherited a bit of vanity from Grandma Phyllys.
I've been working out. Because it feels good. And people have been noticing. At least once a day, someone mentions that I look thinner. It's good for the ego.
A group of guys actually wolf-whistled me yesterday. That's never happened before. I keep asking my inner feminist if she's offended, but she's not answering …
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