I have been enthusiastically looking forward to this moment for months, ever since I learned I was accepted to business school. I am thrilled to be pursuing a graduate degree. I am overjoyed to have a serious adult outlet. I am approaching schooling as a new business venture. I've been waking at 5:30 AM to enjoy the peace of the morning and to indoctrinate myself into the ways of rousing early to complete coursework. (Squee! Coursework!) I feel invigorated that though there is a cost at present, I will eventually be contributing monetarily to our family again.
Most of all?
I am excited about the shoes.
Mah shoes, guys.
I have no cause to wear four-inch heels around the house, whilst I am chasing a rambunctious nearly-14 month-old babe. On weekends, it's about 567 degrees here, so even if J and I do score a night out sans babe, you will catch me in straight flats (oh, I will also rock the flops, but I try not to make a habit of that in the evenings. I am unspeakably fancy.)
I showered and blew dry my hair this morning. and then threw on a pair of ripped jeans and a black tank. I briefly wondered if these jeans would be appropriate for tonight's event. (This happens when it has been eons since you attended an event labeled "business casual".) And then: an epiphany!
My business clothes!
I am in business school. I am an adult. (I am 29, after all.) I own a home in a respectable suburb. Today I decided I would attempt to get involved in a community board, for fuck's sake.
I can wear my beautiful business clothes to business school. I can make like the other part-timers who are rushing to class from uber-demanding day jobs. No one has to know that my current occupation involves poop and My Gym and Mom's League.
Ladies and gents: HomeValley's back, and she's better than evah.
Now, where did I put my Spanx?