I've often thought that there are basically two types of women in the world -- metaphorically speaking, that is.
Maybe it's because this is where I must do my best thinking -- if you don't count wide awake at 3 a.m. But I break the categories down as follows: Women who leave bathroom stalls smelling noticeably sweet and pretty. And the ones who don't.
In the case of the former, I'm not talking bad perfume. No, just nice and pleasant, like fresh flowers or something equally nice that you'd be glad to keep smelling all day.
In the case of the latter, there is no scent at all -- no pretty aroma to remind the next person they were there, and to take notice.
In the case of the former, it makes a statement -- that even in the bathroom, they've got it. They smell great no matter what they're doing.
In the case of the latter, there is no statement, which is the point.
I am among the latter, slogging through life with an overstuffed purse, not smelling like much of anything except the soap I used that morning, just another face in the grocery store checkout line. Think Rhoda Morgenstern.
These other women, they don't have overstuffed purses. They're impeccably put together, look good regardless of age, and always seem to know just what to do. Think Jackie Kennedy.
This crystallized the day a coworker went and had her hair dramatically redone. She came back looking great; everyone noticed and commented, including a male coworker who is often nice and complimentary that way.
But he couldn't stop there. On no. He turned to two of us other females and asked -- only in fun, but still -- why don't we ever gussy ourselves up like that? We fired back, asking what he himself had done lately, personally, to enhance workplace aesthetics.
And then we stewed. We debated coming to work the next day in ratty bathrobes, slippers and curlers to look the part we were feeling. Instead, we opted for glam, both of us taking extra care with our hair and makeup (for me, that meant wearing some), and dressing up in flouncy skirts and shoes with heels. For the first time since grade school, I wore a headband.
Well, she's young and cute and he did compliment her, not necessarily connecting it to his earlier comments. But he never said a word to me, which made me feel even frumpier than before. Plus my feet were killing me. And my scalp ached.
Of course, she told him about it after and he sent me a note apologizing for digging himself in even deeper.
Looking back, I think it would have been better to wear the housecoat and slippers. Something tells me it would have been more comfortable than fashionably frumpy.
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