Weightless (H.S. BWWM)

Feds Watching

It took years and a transformation of my mind and body for me to understand the saying, "Women don't dress up for men they dress up for other women." This morning that saying has been stuck in my head, ringing louder with every rejected outfit.

Hating the way the black knee length dress falls against my body I scrunch my nose and immediately drag it over my head to join the family reunion of it's rejected kin on the floor. The pile reminds me of why I woke up two hours early for this reason alone. I know women who wear makeup that need this type of time to put their face on, for me however, it's deciding on what to wear. It would be simpler if I just picked my outfit out the night before but I can't, I choose my ensemble from feeling. My look for the day depends exclusively on the way I feel that morning.

I'm nervous and when I'm nervous I knit-pick. Everything has to be perfect. I have to be perfect - it's a complex.

Starting a new job is like the first day at a new school, you don't know anyone so you're hoping people like you. For me the stakes are even higher because according to online sources mostly women work at Reynolds Incorporated. Me and women just don't vibe, never have. I'm not one for jealousy or being petty and I'm not easily intimidated so the girls I've come across in life have been hard to relate to. All through school since Kindergarten I've always had more guy friends than girls, I just don't fit in with them.

That's why today, this first impression, this fresh start, is so important. If just one woman tells me I look cute today all of this struggle will be worth it and I'll be put at ease as pathetic as it sounds. I'm hoping in my adult life I can finally get along with my own sex.

Silver hoop earrings sparkle in my ears as I turn from side to side scrutinizing the black and white dress fitting my body. The top of it is black with short sleeves and a scoop neck. It's comfortable like a t-shirt, while the bottom is white with thick black trim. The skirt eases into a pencil skirt that hits at my knee then slinks up to reveal a glimpse of thigh through the sexy yet sophisticated split.

My smooth brown legs glisten from the coconut oil I applied and the shiny black of my toenails can be seen through the peep toe of my black Louboutins that offer an extra five inches to my five foot eight inch build. The paint on my toes matches my favorite Louboutin style on my acrylics that I got a little longer and squarer.

Fifteen minutes later my hair is up in a messy but still work appropriate bun, mascara and eyeliner have met my eyes, and clear gloss covers my lips. The car ride to work is taking much longer than I anticipated making me glad my hair and minimal makeup left me extra time.

Before taking a sip of my Earl Grey tea I sigh into my to-go mug. My nerves are getting the better of me. I woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and ended up spending a huge hunk of time trying to calm the irrational anxious thoughts the dream triggered.

With the tools I learned in therapy it's gotten better but I remember having more moments like this than I would've liked in the past. One time in particular I recall is when I was twenty and my social anxiety was at an all-time high. My mom needed my help to run a garage sale so we could clear out the junk in the garage and around the house. All she wanted me to do was take care of the money. She would be "working the floor" as she called it.

Seeing the apprehension on my face she assumed I didn't feel safe having control over the money in case of a robbery attempt but that was the furthest thing from my mind. The second the words left her lips my anxiety took over placing all of these thoughts in my head of me dropping someone's money or giving them back the wrong change. I could imagine my hand shaking as I handed them their change and them laughing. I imagined myself accidentally charging them the wrong price or just getting overwhelmed with too many customers. The threat of embarrassment lingered in my mind tainting my thoughts. So, being the coward I was I backed out. The sale went fine but I don't think my mom ever forgot my abandoning her when she needed my help, I sure never forgot the look of disappointment on her face.