Oddly enough, it was over my outfit. Or lack of. Now, normally I don't think much about what I wear: if it's comfortable and doesn't require any yanking or tugging or checking of buttons I'm good.
But yesterday I had my first interview for my first real job and suddenly I had NO CLOTHES.
[false- I have a closet full of clothes, many of which fit the professional criteria]
It was cold outside, so there was NO way I could wear a skirt, [false- I do it for church all the time] and I could NOT wear heels for the 4 hours of class before the interview [false- my record is 12 hours for a conference]. I could NOT wear my black pants because my black flats were uncomfortable [semi-false- my pinky toe gets kinda smushed in there] and even if I DID suffer through the shoes I could NOT wear my suit jacket with the pants becuase the blacks did NOT match [I'm still not sure if that's false or not].
Between changing through six outfits and pacing between the closet and the mirror I made myself very late [false- I still could have made it].
That's when I blew up. This was All. Zach's. Fault. [false- Zach had nothing to do with it] because we never go shopping [false- we went last week and I was too picky to buy anything] and being married to him has made me fat so my other clothes don't fit [false- Zach is the only reason I ever get to the gym these days]. Plus, my hair didn't look as professional as I had envisioned, and that was Zach's fault too [false- just false].
Zach took my accusations like a champ. He got dressed, handed me the lunch he packed, put the breakfast he made me on a plate, pushed me out the door, drove me to class and as I exited the car in a fluster he told me that I looked fabulous.
I don't know if I'll get the job, but if I do, it's only because of this guy:
