Page 1 of Love Off the Rocks
1
Mags
“Tell me you’re bringing at least one cute outfit?” My roommate, Tricia, sits on my bed watching me pack for a company trip. When I say company, I mean smallish startup internet service provider (ISP) on the West Coast that has just merged with a larger small startup ISP from the East Coast.
And when I say trip, I mean some stupid glamping type thing in the middle of the Olympic National Forest meant to bring us all together like one big happy family. And by one big happy family, I mean: yuck.
“Why would I? One, I don’t have anyone I need to impress. Two, they said we could, and I quote, ‘kick back, connect, and let the creative juices flow,’ so I ask you, what do I need cute for when I have leggings?”
“Mags,” she scolds. “Have I taught you nothing in the years we’ve known one another?”
“You’ve taught me plenty, and I appreciate it all. But you’re a makeup artist, and you have to look good all the time. I write ad copy. No one cares how I look. They just care how I make their shit sound.”
Still, when she’s not looking, I throw in a nicer pair of jeans and a cute boho top, in addition to what I’ve already got in my bag, which is a lot. It’s not that I’m over packing. It’s just that I won’t know what I’ll be in the mood to wear. What if I wake up and feel fat and leggings are an automatic no because I’m self-conscious about my ass? Leaving me with jeans as the only other choice. Then I have to decide if I want skinny jeans or boyfriend jeans? Cuffed bottom or straight leg?
I really hate traveling for this very reason. I believe in comfort where my clothes are concerned, but only if I’m staying home. If other people are going to see me, then it must be comfort with a modicum of style. I’ll bitch all day long about comfort over fashion, but I’m living a lie. I want to be the girl who can effortlessly throw on any old thing and exude enough confidence that I still look hot. But it takes a lot of forethought to look this carefree and casual.
“What about the promotion?” Tricia asks.
“What about it?”
“You want to make a good impression because you want the promotion,” Tricia says.
“No way is my promotion going to be based on what I wear,” I say, even knowing as I do it might not be true.
“Uh, absolutely it might be.”
“Why?” I whine.
She hands me a basic black dress, one that’s made from some crazy non-wrinkle material, and a pair of ballet flats. “Here, bring these, just in case.”
“Fine.”
“What else do you have in there?” she asks.
“An extra pair of underwear for each day, because what if I fall in a river and my pair for that day doesn’t dry in time and I’m left a pair short by the end of the trip?”
“Yeah, cause that’s likely,” Tricia says drily.
I roll my eyes at her. “Socks, in case my feet get cold. Hair ties, baseball hat, maybe sun hat.” I put it on my head. “What do you think, sun hat, no sun hat?” I pull it back off my head.
“Ditch the sun hat.”
I toss it toward my closet. “Okay, I think that’s it.”
“How many pairs of leggings do you have?” Tricia asks.
“Four.”
“How many days are you gone?”
“Three.”
“Lose two leggings.” She rummages through my bag until she finds them. “And how many pairs of jeans?”
“Three.” Not including the extra pair I threw in.
She pulls one pair out. “Why the maxi skirt?” she asks, pulling that out as well.
