Shopping with Sandra Tsing Loh.
It's not that I'm not LEANING IN. It's just that I'm leaning in to a laptop sitting on a bed piled with laundry. Which is to say like some 40 million Americans, who famously do NOT include employees of Yahoo, I telecommute.
The great thing about working from home is kids get picked up, dogs get walked, cable guys gain entry, the slow cooker slow-cooks. The bad thing? Like a mole underground going blind from the darkness, you morph into this not-ready-for-primetime blob. Your body becomes soft, hair frizzy, eyebrows unthreaded, your legs turn into puffy sweatpants. That's the sad thing - You'd think telecommuters would exercise a lot, but we just do more laundry while our brethren are spinning at lunch.
Which brings me to the skirt.
I suddenly had an important business presentation, which required professional dress. Blinking like a mole, I peered into the forest of my closet, past the t-shirts and yoga pants, into that deeper, more Narnian section, and - ? There was the jumbled row of separates I bought in an earlier kamikaze mission at Ross for Less that either need ironing or dry cleaning. I don't know if it's the unruliness of my electric toothbrush, but a disturbing number of items boast flecks of toothpaste.
Okay: there's one good blazer and one good shirt and all they need is a skirt, the perfect business skirt. I can tell you exactly what it is. It is a smooth, black sheath that goes just below the knee, camouflaging all ills. Speaking of the upper thighs, I have no idea why American women of a certain age-or any age-continue to insist on wearing jeans. It's a national disaster. I'm sure the French are laughing at us.
Fact: women are bigger in the hips. We're vase-shaped. We should be wearing breezy, floaty skirts. But no: it's all about pants in denim, the worst fabric. Every day starts with self-loathing - You painfully button yourself into your jeans as a punishment for what you ate the day before - So you can spend the whole day feeling bad about yourself, and you know what? You look bad! But all will change - I will gain the confidence I need - with this skirt. And I know where to find it.
Old Town Pasadena. J. Crew.
Waving off the salesladies, I stride purposefully - surgically - to the back, and there it is! A row of perfect black skirts.
With just one problem.
My hardworking, big-hipped sisters have beaten me to the punch.
As I rip through the rack, I realize J. Crew is out of any black skirts that are not either a size two or zero! Green skirts, though? White skirts? Take your pick!
Next week: Lookin' like a Jamaican crab shack.