Working at a rather small office, the dress code isn’t too strict. But my mom’s always said “dress for success” so you can usually spot me in a dress or an adorable high-waisted skirt. However, on Mondays I am only in the office for about an hour in the morning for a short meeting before zipping up to St. Cloud for an afternoon class, so I usually just roll right out of bed, throw on the closest cardigan and jeans in my reach, and hit the road.
Let me tell you this: there is absolutely nothing more terrifying – I mean nothing – than having your boss plop down next to you in the conference room as you’re waiting for the meeting to start and say,
“We’ve got a photographer here, I’d love to get your headshot done for the magazine.”
Now I tried my darnest to hide the sheer panic taking over my face with a I’m going to dream about hurting you badly in my sleep tonight smile, and brushed my shaking fingers through my nasty, wavy, never again will I leave the house looking like this, hair.
I hardly remember anything, I’m sure I was doe eyed with a half smile smacked across my face the entire time. The only thought in my mind being there goes any chance of me having a career in any kind of beauty or fashion writing.