Some of you may be aware that recently I got a job. Evidently I can't say what it is, but (also evidently) it isn't perfect. But it will do. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. I'm crossing my fingers that I won't do my first day and come back home to curl up into the foetal position and cry for three hours. It's on Friday, so I'll let you know.
In any case, my dad today decided that I need a supply of short-sleeved shirts and "adequate" trousers for work, because, apparently, it's important what I look like, and that dictates how I do the job. He then took me to Sainsbury's to buy me some. He's a good dad.
I looked at the supply of marvellously bland shirts hanging from the washing line in the kitchen. Nothing more extravagant than blue in there. I didn't even get anything pink (I know, I'm surprised too). I considered trying some of them on. But then I realised that I'd worn them all already - or, at least, one. You wear one, you've worn them all.
Do I look good in a shirt? Do I look sexy? I'm no judge, and it's not important for me to be sexy in a work context. Outside of it, yes. In this blogging world, damn yes. Fail magnificently as I might do, I at least try and put on a sexy front. And sometimes I even try and look good. But, appropriateness aside, do I look sexy? In a shirt? I've been told yes. I even took a picture of my shirted body once to send to Catharine. I've been told I do. But I just don't feel it.
I don't feel sexy in a shirt. Attractive, maybe, but that's not really the same. I feel a lot more sexy when I'm free. It's the spring now, which in my mind translates to T-shirt weather. In a T-shirt, I'm liberated. I'm easy. I'm more me. In a shirt, well... I feel slightly stifled. Different things for different situations, maybe, but nevertheless, still stifled. Maybe a little.
Get me naked, however, and I feel a lot less sexy, because I have to look at bits of my body. At least that isn't a worry. I'm not really going to show up to a new job completely naked.