Waking up this morning, I could smell extra strong coffee wafting down the hallway and new that my husband was already up and moving around. This could mean that he’d slept well and was ready to meet the new day with excitement and vigor or it could mean that he’d had another bad night and hadn’t slept well. I got up and pulled the covers up, no need to fully make the bed if he’s had a restless night and would find himself crawling back into it anyways. I’ve learned that making the bed twice in one day was really a waist of my time.
I decided to wear something simple today. That still includes hose, heels, and the entire nine yards of dressing for success, just not an entire dress suit. Cute skirt and white blouse with simple black shoes. Acceptable dress for a hard nosed saleswoman that lives from sale to sale. HOWEVER, this morning was a jumble of confusion triggered by the extra strong coffee. I ripped a nice hole in the first pair of hose I grabbed, run the second pair with my nails, and carefully maneuvered my emergency pair from the package. The first slip I put on was too long and showed under my skirt. (not that it was a short skirt, it comes to just below my knees, where I like this style.) So, pulling another slip from the dresser I noticed that it was aging and the waste band was failing. Finish dressing and made a mental note that my first stop would be the local Walmart. (Not many choices in small towns.)
It was a restless night. Props to me for not fully making the bed. Took my daily Blood Pressure medicine, gathered up my (work from where ever I am) bag and started out the door. Slipping my feet into my simple black dress shoes, I felt something hard inside one. I lifted my foot sidways to see if it was possible to shake what ever it was out, and wouldn’t you know, I snagged my emergency hose with the heel.
Now I have to get a slip and hose. But that’s the life of being a professional woman on the go. Finally finish getting myself together and go into my first apt. “Oh, I”m sorry, I was sure I’d emailed you to let you know he’s on vacation this week.” Nope. No email informing me of that. “Should we set up another apt for after he’s returned, while I’m here?” I asked.
“Sure.” The receptionist agreed. “How’s next month sound?” I took what I could get.
Getting into my car, I start the engine. The radio is set on a competitive’s station. I do listen to other stations. I want to know what our shared clients are running, (usually my spots, again, that’s okay I’d rather hear my voice on their station than their voices on mine.) The station breaks and a spots airs. It’s one that I’ve been working on for months. One the other station and not mine. I sink into my seat and wonder if I should have even gotten out of bed this morning at all.
It’s lunch time. Hoping that the afternoon turns around for me. Dare I ask the dreaded, unspeakable, and only question on my mind? Could things possibly get any ______?