Vanity, Thy Name is ... Grace?

I can wear jeans and sweatshirts to work if I want. And I do. But every once in a while you just run out of casual wear and have to pick something else.

Today I picked leggings.

And then I unpicked them, because the shirt I put on seemed a bit too short to wear with leggings. My middle-aged middle was covered up, but my butt and thighs were a bit more exposed than I was totally comfortable with. (Old fears die hard.)

So I added a long scarf and a pair of high-heeled boot shoes, stuck out my chin and headed to work.

And I spent much of the first part of the morning self-consciously tugging down my shirt.

By the time lunch rolled around, I was starting to get comfortable.

Lentil soup. Microwave. A trip back to the sink to grab some paper towel.

And WHOOOOOOOPPPPSSSSS!

I landed on my heel cockeyed, my leg shot out from under me, and I ass-planted on the shiny, new, super smooth wood floor.

Internal dialogue: "Oh F#%&! Knee. Knee. Knee. Knee! Is everything good? Evaluate! Is everything OK? I think so. Uh, hello, you just wiped out in front of everyone and you might want to think about how that looks."

Ta da?

The good thing about leggings is they're easy to climb around it. Helpful when you have to hoist yourself back to standing.

So much for not drawing attention to yourself when you're not sure if you've over-reaching your fashion capabilities.

This was the obvious choice for this post's photo. 

But it really looked more like this to most of  my young
whippersnapper coworkers ... leggings and all.