It was hot out. My feet were feeling a little sweaty in the great shoes as I walked the city streets to get there from the parking garage. But that’s okay.
Entering the offices, I made a nametag. Everyone had a nametag. Totally clashed with my top and it was a little too long so the sticky part kept sticking to my skin. But that’s okay.
At the reception desk, I asked for a Corona. And I looked around. Lots of young ‘uns here. Lots. Everyone was chatting it up, looking at ease and happy. It was happy hour, after all.
After uncomfortably looking around for someone – anyone – that I knew, I walked back into the office space.
Did I mention this is really beautiful space? It is.
So I’m looking around and I spot a friend. He doesn’t work here, but is the partner of someone who works here. Whew. A friendly face. And then, I found a couple others. Still, I felt a little awkward.
Somehow, I ended up in one of those circle conversations. You know what I mean – when 5 or so people are standing in a circle talking and the conversation moves this way and that?
It was at that moment that I looked to my right and realized that the 25 year old woman to my right who I’d been talking to must be 6 feet tall. And 125 pounds. With long blond hair and a twinkly smile. She was a knock out.
Hey, I’m not biased. I talk to tall gorgeous blonds. No problem. But then I looked to my left.
All of a sudden, I felt like Fiona.
Which is particular pitiful since I felt so pretty and put together less than an hour earlier.
I realized that the time I spent agonizing over what I was going to wear to this soirée was not a good spend. Because no one looks at the 40-somethings when they’re hanging with girls like this.
This is not to say that I think they’re better than me. I know I have some fine qualities and even that I look good for my age But on a first glance basis? If you don’t know what’s inside my head?