Today I went to Liz's for lunch. The first thing she said to me when I walked through the door was, "Wow, you look like you got dressed for work today!" I should explain...I work for The Nature Conservancy and we have a relaxed dress code which is understandable. I guess they figure they owe us the right to wear cut-off jean shorts and "I heart nature" t-shirts because we're making little more than the high-school kids at the Weinerschnitzel. And I take full advantage of their concession. I generally throw on a pair of jeans, flats and a hooded sweater and call it good. Today I wore a shirt with buttons and I guess that seemed "grown-up". I blame it on my acquisition of a flip cell phone. I'm a big kid now. Next up, a car with FOUR doors.
All of this is prologue. The truly remarkable thing about today's lunch and discussion of my clothing was this: About 5 minutes into my lunch visit, Liz walks out of her bedroom with another shirt and tells me to put it on. She heard me tell her brother Arthur that I thought I looked like I should be catering something (white button down, black pants) and she agreed. She told me I couldn't have the shirt back until I got a part-time job at Biaggi's in the Gateway.
Why is it that we need our friends to save us from our own fashion mistakes? I knew when I left my house this morning that I was not wearing my most attractive outfit. I felt frumpy and kind of gross. But I didn't do anything about it before showing myself in public. I needed Liz to concur with my projection and take control. And she did, God Bless Her Soul. So here is to the Liz's in our lives...the girls (and boys) who will tell us when we look like Little Kim on a bad day and help us regroup.