Countdown to 40: T-Minus 44 Weeks

So, that’s it. I’ve officially thrown in the towel and succumbed to old age.

That’s right, people, the deed has been done and I feel that I must confess . . . I wore commuter sneakers today to work. Yep, I was professional from the ankles up, but from the ankles down, I was pure casual. White socks and tennis shoes. I just couldn’t take another day of my shin-splinting five block hike from my parking lot to the office, so I threw my flats in a bag, put on my Nikes and threw caution to the wind.

The problem is — I liked it. Sure, I looked like a buffoon, but I was a buffoon with a spring in my step.

But I’m afraid that now that I’ve crossed the line, it’s going to be a fast decline into total frump-hood. I’ll pick up a smart ruffled blouse with a bow around the neck here, and a nice pair of elastic-waist slacks there… And then “comfort” will begin to trump “style” in my daily wardrobe decision, and before you know it I’ll be showing up to work wearing a faux silk warm-up suit.

There’s just no turning back after that.

As my sister so sarcastically pointed out when I told her what I’d worn to and from work — at least I wasn’t also wearing a Walkman.





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