This morning, in a rare departure from my pants and jacket style of work clothes, I decided to wear a dress. A nice, conservative black one appropriately ending just below the knee - paired with a striped shirt that went under it. You might say the very epitome of dressed for success and Carpe Diem and all that sort of thing. Thus attired, I then ran around the house, picking toys, flipping omlettes, changing a diaper and instructing my son incessantly about what he could and should and could not and should not do on this day. Here is what the offspring had to say:
Me: Rishi make sure you don't go to the neighbour's without calling me first.
Son (aged 6): Ok ma, but you look silly. Why are you dressed in a school uniform?
Me: Its not a school uniform - its damn fine office wear.
Son: Well, you look silly in a frock.
After a few deep breaths and a quick lecture to the boy on the essential difference between frock and dress, I went inside to the bedroom to wear my shoes and make a dash out of the house and make good time for the first meeting of the day. It was being inhabited by bounder number 2 and here is how that panned out:
Me: Rhea, my baby, my lovey duck, let mamma fix your hair and make you all pretty to play with your toys:
Daughter (aged 2): mama shame shame ... where your pants?
I didn't have time to pick up the bits and pieces of my self confidence that were strewn everywhere, so I just went to work and had the most miserable day pulling down the hem of my DRESS everytime I met a client or caught sight of myself in a pane of glass.
Anyone wanting the few dresses still hanging in my clothes rack - you know where to get me!