The Joys of Consulting…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Personal

I may have mentioned before that life in health care is somewhat conservative. Sure, the humor is a little twisted (that’s a survival skill) but aside from that, it’s very buttoned-collar, starched shirt and stiff, if you catch my drift.

My attire, typically a nice skirt with some variation of sweater. Henrythepenguin and I both dress this way. Very nifty when it comes time for Henry to purge her wardrobe and bestow pretty things on her younger sister. Unfortunately for me, nice skirt and fashionable sweaters no longer cut it in my world. Working in a hospital, apparently, affords you a little bit of latitude in wardrobe. Working for hospitals, as a consultant, not so much. It’s suits, suits, suits with proper shoes.

I have spent the past two weeks shopping for new clothes.

I (basically) spent the entire tax refund on my new wardrobe.

You gotta pay to play.

Shopping for suits is not easy if you’re built like I am. My body is not designed for pants of any sort other than jeans or leggings. Considering that I’m not Lindsay Lohan (the queen of 90’s fashion) and denim is a no-no, one can only imagine the hell that I have been through trying to find suits with skirts. Everyone dresses like Hillary Clinton (pant suits) these days. Pants…particularly tailored pants…are not working. My butt is far too bootylicious and my hips are far too curvy to get anything over them. By the time I manage to find something that will go over my badonkadonk, my waist is surrounded by 20 inches of extra fabric. So, skirts it is.

Then there is the horror of trying to find a jacket which will close over the bosoms-of-doom. My shoulders and arms are swimming in tweed whilst my buttons are barely closing over the boobs. It’s not pretty.

Fortunately, Dock and Adam Smith have been more than supportive and willing to come along with me as I try to overhaul my wardrobe and create this illusion that I am a responsible professional. Dock holds my hand while I cry in frustration. Adam Smith simply gets me drunk on some alcoholic version of a Shirley Temple (simply divine).

As it stands right now, I have managed to acquire:

• 5 suits, replete with skirts of knee-length
• Various shells made of natural materials (preferably cotton)
• 3 pairs of shoes (two flats; one in black, one in brown and one pair of killer pumps)
• 1 purse (ok…I didn’t need that but I did receive a nice note from Coach offering me 25% off a purchase)
• 1 KangGreen (ok, booger green…so it’s Kang as in Marnie and not Kang as in the alien green) blazer made of some sort of wool
• 1 cream, suede jacket on the sale rack at Ann Taylor (originally $299, snapped it up for $99)

I’m estimating that I will need, at least, five more suits and various shells. I will also need a proper strand of pearls and a pair of suitable earrings, perhaps diamond studs or pearl studs. And, probably, two or three more pairs of shoes and one metric ass-load of Spanxx.

The worst part of this money hemorrhage is the fact that I did not get to buy anything remotely fun (ok…the suede jacket). It’s all proper attire for a proper lady professional to wear to proper meetings with big kahunas. The only good thing about this is that money does have a strange way of regenerating and this job allows me to make the necessary cabbage to support what is turning out to be a very expensive lifestyle.

…and, I must add, it’s nice to be able to drop a sizable chunk of change on leather goods without feeling compelled to explain it to Dock.  Saturday marked the first time in the history of our marriage that he did not scream when he saw a giant bag full of shoes from Nordstrom.