I'm Not the Kind of Girl Who Gives Up Just Like That

I just got home from presenting my Secret Service Special Ops Project for Behind Curtain #2 Place of Possible Employment, Please Oh Please Be My Place of Employment Because If You Don't Ask Me to Marry You in a Civil Ceremony Complete with Signing Bonus I Just Might Have to Sell My House and Shop at Ross Dress for Less Not That I Am Being Judge-y Or Anything, No Siree, Pas Moi, otherwise known as SSSOPBC2PPEPOPBMPEBIYDAMTMYICCSBIJMHSMHSRDFLNTIABJNSPM, for short. What can I say? I like working for places with complicated names.

So I am home. I have shirked off my A-Line "please take me seriously, no, seriously" interview dress, my Tory Burch flats (good Lord I am a snob). I have taken off my wedding rings that aren't really wedding rings because Bryan and I don't wear rings but I believe they give me an air of authority situated as close as they are to the ZOEY tattoo on the inside of my wrist. So I have taken those off and am now eating pita chips and hummus wearing jeans and an old tee shirt, my hands bare, my heart beating. And I am scared. Scared that I won't get the job, and then what? There is nothing else out there. Scared that I will get the job. Because, you know, then I will have a job. Scared that. Just that. Scared. Scared seems to be my go-to emotion, like how people have a go-to karaoke song? Yeah, mine is Blondie's "The Tide is High" and I am scared. Unless, of course, someone is singing Young M.C.'s "Bust a Move" because then I am quite willing to sing back up. You want it? Baby, you got it, uh huh, yeah, yeah, yeah...

I am scared. They said they would call me by the end of the week but I am not very good at operating without a filmy veil of control. I mean, what? Am I just supposed to sit here and wait? I'm not supposed to make pacts with the Universe? Like, if I don't push down on the gas pedal but make it to the light before it turns yellow, then yes, I will get the job? Or if there is only one more commercial before Oprah comes back on then I will get the job, right? But wait, ads for Tech Schools and Dental Assistant placement programs shouldn't count. So there, I will still get the job. See? I still have a modicum of control. O Captain! My Captain! I believe what Whitman was referring to with the O there was Oprah Winfrey. Or a Magic 8 ball. Must. Maintain. Control.

Lately Zoey has become fascinated with a large black purse she absconded with from her Grandma DD's house. It is so large that when she carries it on her shoulder she has to keep her arm raised high overhead to keep it from dragging on the ground and falling off, sort of like a Heil Hitler if the Nazis had favored black leather handbags with silver hardware. Which, come to think of it, wouldn't surprise me. In the mornings Zoey likes to walk around the house with her purse filling it up for the day. She might stop in the living room and squash her plush kitten-cat inside, her pink sunglasses, a remote control if she's quick. Often she puts her whistle in there, crayons, a few barrettes and a small tube of baby lotion. Last week I even stashed a tampon in the side pocket knowing full well that they always get tattered in my purse. And as she walks around the house, one hand raised up high, filling up her purse for the day I hear her talking to herself in a small voice, okay, yeah, bye bye ballerina light, bye shoes, mmhm, yes, see ya later alligator pillow. One by one she says goodbye to the house, to her toys and to Nacho, to the hand-vac plugged in by the front door. And I see that big black handbag as Zoey's sense of control, that if maybe she takes enough of her surrounding with her then the big bad world of the day before her is just that much smaller, that much closer to home. Plus, she never has to worry about chapped lips, what with no less than seven lip balms she keeps in her purse at all times.

So this week, while I wait, I think I am just going to walk around my house filling up my purse like Zoey. Pens. Gum. The People magazine with Tim Russert on the cover. Some Dr. Scholl's moleskin in case my feet start to hurt. I am going to keep my arms high overhead so that I don't drop the bag that is much too large for the likes of me; I'm going to see what I can do to make the world smaller and closer to home. Mmhm, yeah, bye bye bills, see ya later alligator COBRA. Oprah is on in one hour and if during that episode there is a commercial for laundry detergent then I will get the job. The tide is high but I'm holding on.

Nothing speaks to freedom louder than a half-suit; photos courtesy of the Business Bib. Buy yours here. No, seriously. If nothing else just check out the product descriptions.