Business Nonsense

Today I bought myself a suit. That's right, I bought a suit...as in a PANTSUIT. For myself. And I suppose you might be wondering WHY I would do this?!? Me, too. I mean, I am wondering the same thing myself.

There's a dinner on Friday night, and Chris is taking me. A fancy dinner, honoring federal court judges, and we're invited, and I'm a little nervous. Why? The mingling part, mostly. I'm just not good at mingling. I suppose that at 31 years of age, it could still benefit me to learn. Aside from my fear of being talked to, I'm also a little nervous because the dress code is business attire. I'm afraid I will be on trial or something. "Yes, Your Honor, this is the first suit I've ever owned, and I did pick it out myself." You see, I wear my business attire 7 days a week. With the exception of Three Hour Church on Sunday, business attire for me means jeans and t-shirts. After all, mine is a dirty business. Yes, even dirtier than that of a room full of lawyers.

I didn't google "women's business attire" right away, because I do have SOME sense of what "business attire" means. And I know that I don't own anything that belongs in this category, whatsoever. But I was sure there would be some details in fine print that I'd do well to learn before a sentence is handed down to me on Friday night. Sure enough, I was unaware of the statutes of business attire. If you are interested, just google it and you will see. Needless to say, this dinner feels slightly threatening to me.

I have never had anyone or anything in my life try harder to change my own personal sense of style (or non-style, as the case may be) than the mere act of Chris going to law school. More education started out as a nice idea and very well may still be one, but somewhere, somehow, someone forgot to inform ME that I, too, would be expected to adhere, at least on occasion, to a strict dress code (even stricter than the shorts-must-come-down-to-my-kneecap ordinance at BYU) so as to avoid looking the part of the frumpy housewife-who-let-herself-go next to my husband, the million bucks. (By the way, the term "million bucks" refers to the million bucks SPENT to transform a person from one who sits comfortably to one who waits, UN-comfortably, to rush home and hang up those expensive clothes that must look brand new each time they are worn...or else.) So, in order to be seen with a million bucks, I can't look like 50 cents. But we have no more million bucks, because we spent that all on HIS suits (which, until he has officially earned his diploma, passed his multiple Bar exams--those are different exams, not the same one multiple times, just to be clear here--and is employed full-time IN THE LEGAL FIELD AS A LAWYER, I affectionately call them his "lawyer costumes.") The million bucks is spent. We haven't a penny of it left, so we had to take out loans just to pay his tuition. His parents had to cash out their retirement so he could buy his books and so that his family (peons that we are) wouldn't starve over the course of 3 years.

So, today I went to JC Penney and found me a pantsuit (a black one) on sale for $79.99 + tax. It was marked down from a million bucks, so I don't know if that'll count as perjury when I wear it in the presence of the court or not. That price didn't include a shirt, which I was almost tempted to bypass (I'm learning to be frugal, eh?), but since I've never maxed out a credit card to date, I figured it's better to be safe than sorry and just went ahead and charged me a shirt on it. Even though it wasn't explicitly stated in the hitherto unmentioned dress code for wives whose husbands will one day be forced to keep up appearances in the likes of a TRILLION bucks, shirts are probably required. Since I wasn't sure which colors are acceptable and which ones are not, I went with plain ol' vanilla--white. For fear of being mistaken for a man, I went with the dressed-up white shirt with the clear, sparkly rhinestone buttons. I may be kicked out of this dinner for being a little too flamboyant in my dress, but it was a risk I felt was worth taking. I just hope that Chris isn't charged as my accomplice.

So, I modeled my orange jumpsuit, er, I mean black pantsuit for my parents who both ruled in my favor. Then, I drove home to face the judgment seat of the man that will be putting his own neck on the line if my fashion sense is deemed a failure. His judgment is usually the harshest of all, and his verdict surprised me: Not Guilty! So at least HE is convinced that I can pass muster on Friday night. I hope nobody is fooled by the cover-up and tries to actually talk business with me, because it'll be off to the slammer I go.