“Remoted - Hybrid” – Day 555 (Wednesday)

It is abundantly clear in the second week with days working in the office, that the long stretch of working from home made me soft. The work from home wardrobe was minimal – one pair of faded capris worn for five days, and a different plain tee shirt each day. It was easy. There was no real thought needed, and nobody to witness the attire. Jeans were reserved for weekends to help differentiate the days. You know, to make them feel special.

Last week had three days in the office on the Monday, Wednesday, and Friday schedule. Monday and Wednesday were office attire and Friday was jeans allowed with a bank logo top. Tuesday and Thursday were a great buffer with no need to worry about wardrobe and it was back to casual capris and a tee shirt. This week it’s Tuesday through Thursday in the office, plus Monday had an offsite bank event requiring “proper” attire.

After three straight days of dressing, the wardobe pickins’ are getting slim and I still need attire for Thursday. The stress mounts each morning, and is my own fault for engaging in minimal activity for 18 months. The home-office days meant sitting. And sitting. Nothing is more than twenty steps away from the desk.

Now office-office days include physical activity. There is climbing the staircase at the garage and walking between the garage and office, to the coffee shop, the option to climb stairs up and down to the fourth floor, plus office wanderings to the water cooler, copier, and rest room. This is all good, and clearly a more healthy level of activity, but it’s been a mild shock to the system.

Enemy territory.

Office-office days also mean mornings standing at the closet near the pants department, also known as enemy territory, staring and cursing at the options while mentally eliminating those that are too casual, too summery, and those that probably won’t fit. That leaves a very small number of viable options. How did I manage to dress five days a week, every week, for so many years? What did I wear? It's like I have wardrobe amnesia, but I do recall there was a lot of swearing. 

It’s always the pants that are the problem, and it’s always an issue of not being able to both zip them and breathe. It’s been a surprise every day this week that some of them still fit. A miracle, really. But even when they manage to encase the soft and squishy flesh of inactivity, it doesn’t mean they are flattering and mirrors and reflective surfaces are avoided whenever possible.

Dresses or skirts used to be my go-to, largely for their ability to hide a multitude of dietary sins, but those have been out of favor in my world for several years since the fashion trend of no hose. Being bare legged for me means thighs sticking together in the heat and the panful ripping apart of the stuck flesh upon moving. The solution of the lady boxer brief skimmer shorts helps a little, but also means the legs rolling up and making dents in the thighs, and a million trips to the loo to unroll them. Bare legs also invites general, overall freezing in the air conditioning.

Consequently, there will be no dresses or skirts until we are solidly settled into heavy tights and tall boots weather. For now, it’s ankle pants or capris with booties, because full length pants require high heels and that is an adventure for another day that will need some easing into.