Perfect pic.jpg

There She is.

So perfect. Standing next to me in the elevator, Her fragrance of choice, Dior Poison Girl, is gently touching the air around us, as an indication of Her strength and fearlessness. Her hair that was washed and blow-dried that morning, is now caressing Her shoulders and back. So perfect. Her shoes matches the strap of Her shiny, luxury watch, and the pen skirt is conservative, but the slit up the right leg tells a different story, to the chosen one (or ones). She is full of mysterious contradictions for the male population to attempt to unravel.

In Her left hand, She holds a Starbucks paper cup with freshly brewed coffee, that She sips from time to time, although it is clearly too hot to drink just yet. In Her right hand She effortlessly carries a tiny handbag, just big enough to hold the necessities of a young, independent, sexy girl; probably the Blood Red Yves Saint Laurent Rouge Pur Couture Lipstick; a feminine credit card holder, because who carries cash around these days, anyways?; and the most important piece of electronic a young, independent, sexy girl will ever need – Her phone. She, got Her shit together.

There I am.

Standing next to Her in the elevator. I am wearing my plastic beach slippers, only because the walk from the muddy parking lot to the office is too long and sweaty for heals. I am dragging with me one heavy laptop bag (that has lots of paperwork and books I need tucked into it), one workout bag (that actually looks super petite, but one I have to struggle with every morning to at all be able to zip up) and finally one very heavy meal bag to last me the following 3 days (because this mum doesn’t only eat salad). I look everything but graceful. In my left hand I am carrying a small plastic supermarket bottle, with a broken lid and a Spiderman sticker on. It also says Coffee on it, in case I ever needed to remind myself of putting coffee in there rather than 60% Jamaican Rum during the morning rush. It could happen, you know… My hair is up in an untidy ponytail, but not one of those “oh, I just got out of the shower, and my hair is really long and thick so I can just swing it up into a ponytail and I look fabulous” kind of hairstyle, but more like the “urgh, my hair is so dirty today because I woke up too late and didn’t have time to wash and blow-dry it and so I put it up in a ponytail that now just makes my head look small and my skull greasy” kind of hairstyle. Sorry, sensitive subject :).

I secretly recent Her, but I am curious nevertheless. Who is She? What does She do for a living? Does She have kids, maybe She doesn’t even plan to have any!? And so on. My imagination can stretch far, during the ride all the way up tens of floors.

I have never been one for comparing myself to anyone, and this is definitely not a case of jealousy, but I do however support stealing best practices from other people. She must have plenty of those, given how She looks like She is on top of Her game. I want to reach over and say to Her in what would probably be perceived as rather intimidating: – “How the fuck do you do it?” Every day, immaculate… I wish She would write an e-book on it, I would so be waving my slightly broken, bent credit card up high for that one!

But, I never ask Her, even though I meet Her there in the elevator almost every day. She may not take it as a compliment, and suddenly scary, undercover security men may show up and ask me to come with them. Lol, of course I am exaggerating, but yeah, maybe not so much after all. Women sometimes get startled by other women who are direct and straight with them, even when it’s a positive compliment. When the compliment comes from a man then we can classify it as flirting and deal with it differently depending on if the guy is a 10 pointer or not. But with women, it’s hard for us to place it.  So, I keep quite…

And you know, ladies, it’s not about being perfect, I never cared much for that, and it’s not my feeling sluggish. It’s the fact that I do think that being a bit organized and feeling a little more like one of those girls that got their shit together, will make me happier in fact. It’s peace of mind, to not constantly feel like there is something I am not doing the best way I can.

She is now getting ready to exit the elevator, when suddenly, there is a glimmer of hope. As She is walking out the elevator, I notice something I have never seen before. Under Her Black with Red Sole Jimmy Choo’s I can see a price-tag. A price-tag, under Her shoe, how could She forget to remove it? I am mesmerized, this is the first sign that She may actually be a human being.

L_O_V_E

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