“Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.”
— Marilyn Monroe
It’s official, poodles, winter turns your friendly household C. into a blithering idiot. I suspect I have a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder – come the cold and dark I get moodier, need to sleep longer, and can stay on the sofa for hours doing nothing and seemingly only half awake. And my brain turns to mush. I am sure of it.
We got another coat of snow last night so when I finally managed to pull myself out of bed (which is not exactly an easy feat when your SAD-affected mind and body are yelling at you, “If you’d just give in you could have a nice little bout of depression and not have to go into work today. Come on, just because it takes you months to pull yourself out of it doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Give in just a little…”), I reached for my trusty Hunter boots.
Stuffing legs and trousers into them haphazardly, I clumped about the flat grabbing fruit and granola bars (and maybe a couple of chocolate chip cookies) before J. and I dashed out into the cold to scrape off the car and gun it for work.
But midway to the office, I was hit with the nagging, suspicious feeling that somewhere in the vastness of the universe there was a Being chuckling at my expense.
I cataloged myself. Something was missing. Bag, phone, wallet, all present. Gym bag complete with gym clothes, check. Water bottle, snacks, diary, all in their proper places. My hair was done, I had no bra straps on display, I was even sporting a pretty new cardigan and fabulous bright red lipstick. What was it?
Bending down to rummage in my bag again, I glanced at my boots. The nagging, chuckling feeling got stronger. It became downright malicious in fact. Boots, I thought, why would that…drat! Because, naturally, I had not grabbed actual shoes to change into.
Thus, here I sit in sharp black trousers, red lipstick, freshly painted nails, lovely cardigan…and my old running trainers – which squeak badly when I walk. Much to the amusement of my co-workers.