Paging the Fashion Police

I had to wear a suit to work last Thursday.

I haven't worn a suit to work in years.  But I was interviewing with a potential new boss, and I wanted to make a good impression.

(I had known this day would come for a number of months.  I even bought a new suit just to be ready.  Because, Lord knows, my old suits don't fit anymore.  Besides, I don't think those suits with the great big belt on the outside of the jacket are still as hip and happening as they were in the early 90s.)

My problem, however, was not the suit.

My problem was the shoes.

Well, no, that's not entirely true.  My problem was what to put on my legs before I put my feet in my shoes. 

Specifically:  panty hose, or the lack thereof.

I think hose -- or stockings of any kind -- are "out" now.  I never actually got the memo to that effect (and I'm sorry I missed it, as it would have been cause for a real celebration) -- but I haven't really seen anyone wear them anymore.  And when I say "anyone," I mean both real people and anyone being photographed on a red carpet someplace.

So, I'm gonna go hoseless.  My legs are pasty as milk bottles (tanning in the sun has been "out" for at least 20 years) and painting myself bronze has never really been my thing.  Oh well, there's nothing for it -- pale legs on parade.

Which brings me back to the shoes.  I can't wear open-toed sandals to work (and I certainly can't wear flip-flops -- which are probably responsible for putting the last nail in the pantyhose coffin -- but I still can't put my brain around the idea of wearing them anywhere indoors).  ANYWAY, the open-toed sandals are out both because it is late September and because, well, I didn't get a chance to get a pedicure and the polish remnants have crawled halfway up my toenails in a way that is, let's just say, something less than the "together" professional image I'm trying to project here.

Closed shoes, then.  Pumps.  Them, I got.  But it's 90 degrees outside, and naked feet inside pumps in 90 degree weather at a job interview are going to, y'know, sweat.  And stick to the insole.

Conveniently, I've got a bottle of that Odor Eaters stuff.  It's like talcum powder.  Or corn starch or something.  So, I unscrew the top and sprinkle a little bit of the stuff inside each shoe.

And then a whole pile of the powder comes pouring out into my shoes.  I'm trying for the shoe powder equivalent of "a pinch," and I end up with about a quarter cup in there.  I try to dump some of the excess and end up sending white streaks all along the heels of my black leather pumps.

I wipe down the outside of the shoes with a tissue and, cautiously, insert my feet.  A cloud of white smoke comes out and covers each shoe.  I wipe them off again.  By now, I really have to leave for work so I won't be late.

As I go off to my interview, I am still leaving little clouds of Odor Eaters powder behind me with each step I take. 

All things considered, I should've just worn the damn panty hose.