The Princess and the Toad

The other day I had an after-hours meeting with a consultant I was trying to hire for work.  When I sent her an engagement email she replied that she was so busy that unless I wanted to wait until the New Year, she could see me that night at 6 at a pub in town.

The whole thing made me uncomfy.  I’m not a big drinker.  I’m not a fan of discussing business in public, particularly this business.  And since I’ve packed on my poundage, I prefer not to be out and about socially, especially where my appearance matters.  Sad but true.

And then there was the whole Points thing which was throwing me into a tizzy until I got my head on straight.  It would serve as practice for Thanksgiving Day when there would be a zillion food options that would blow my mind and test my judgment.

In my renewed effort to feel what I’m feeling instead of eat what I’m feeling (novel concept, yes?) I realized that I was feeling intimidated.  I don’t have to drink-drink; a Pellegrino with lime would be perfectly acceptable.  I can pass on the fried calamari and dipping sauce instead opting for steamed shrimp and be perfectly happy.  And the business about talking business in public is silly; people do it all the time and I’m fairly certain any members of the press sitting nearby would not be interested.

The issue was that I was meeting a woman who is a partner in a firm that specializes in women’s leadership.  Do you see where I’m going here?  I feel like a toad. A large, slow, lumpy rather unattractive toad.  What toad in her right mind relishes being scrutinized over drinks by a Disney Princess?

I want to be the Princess.  Not so that I can scrutinize toads, but so that how I look never occurs to me.  That quiet confidence that THOSE WOMEN have is what I’m after.  I know what I’m talking about because the day I wore the pink shorts, I had it.

Second only to consulting your physician in the disclaimer before starting any weight loss or exercise program is the guidance where you ask yourself why you’re doing it.  I want to feel better about myself.  (loud buzzer sound)  Wrong answer.  I should be doing it for improved health.  My health, at least at this moment, is not failing.  My physical health, that is.  My mental health on the other hand is off the rails.  Does that count?

Positive: I got my head out of my backside, dressed in the image of the size 8 badass I once was (despite wearing size 12s), fixed my hair, bought a new lipstick and got on with things.

Negative: I resisted the urge to tear off the band aid.  I really wanted to ask her to tell me what she was thinking as she scrutinized me.

And she really did.  Quietly at first.  I watched her watch me as I took pieces of the meat-and-cheese tray she ordered for us to share.  I saw her looking at my glasses and my earrings, wondering about my hair.  And at the end, when we stood to say goodbye, she blatantly – but not rudely – took me in from head to toe before offering a brief embrace of departure.

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