I was rocking the Young Professional look today in a jacquard skirt and flapper heels, and a white shirt crisp like the day. Two hours over lunch in the grand dining room at the gorgeous restored Pumphouse restaurant by the rail tracks in Hornsey, the old white tiles polished like Industry and Promise, and I surprised myself by how competent I can be. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, thank you, Oprah, I am working on it. But two months into a frustrating job search, sometimes a girl falls to insecurities, what can you do.
This afternoon I was sitting there at the table, and I heard these words coming out of my mouth, and, man, it sure sounded like I knew what I was talking about—and then all of a sudden I wasn’t pretending anymore, if I had been pretending at all. And I don’t want to get ahead of myself here or anything, but I just want to say, I might get to do a work experience gig at a press that publishes picture books in English and French. I will say this one more time, just to be sure we all understand: Picture books. English, AND French. AND, actually, while we’re at it, Chinese. You don’t have to tell me how perfect this would be, BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW.
Post-lunch, optimistic and jaunty, I celebrated by swishing down Marylebone High Street in secretary chic. It is fancy in those parts, fancy like a pink Turkish delight, fancy like a macaron cassis-violette from Ladurée. There were fairy lights in the trees as dusk settled around us, and the moon was a perfect luminous circle in the darkening sky.
This afternoon I was sitting there at the table, and I heard these words coming out of my mouth, and, man, it sure sounded like I knew what I was talking about—and then all of a sudden I wasn’t pretending anymore, if I had been pretending at all. And I don’t want to get ahead of myself here or anything, but I just want to say, I might get to do a work experience gig at a press that publishes picture books in English and French. I will say this one more time, just to be sure we all understand: Picture books. English, AND French. AND, actually, while we’re at it, Chinese. You don’t have to tell me how perfect this would be, BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW.
Post-lunch, optimistic and jaunty, I celebrated by swishing down Marylebone High Street in secretary chic. It is fancy in those parts, fancy like a pink Turkish delight, fancy like a macaron cassis-violette from Ladurée. There were fairy lights in the trees as dusk settled around us, and the moon was a perfect luminous circle in the darkening sky.
posted by stellou at 8:21 PM
4 Comments:
You dont have to pretend GIIRRRRRL -friend! You will do wonders... with this all round good news. Looking forward to hearing more of it :)
Good luck!!! I hope something comes out of it... I got your message, thanks for ringing. I keep meaning to ring you back but everytime I remember it's 10am over here which means that it's 2 am in London.....sigh.....
Pikchers of the shooz preease. And oh, good luck with the possible new gig!! (I gots my priorities on right - shooz first, all else can wait)
Hallo laydeez! Thank you, thank you.
an-dree: Eh don't panic lah, we will connect one of these days.
cour marly: All that swishing down Marylebone High Street meant that the heel pad fell off the right shoe, which meant that Mr Shoe is at the cobbler starting today--so, sorry, no picture. But here's this instead: I got these shoes almost two years ago, right after I handed in my last paper at the end of my first semester of grad school. I remember calling my friend Tom, on a high, from outside the shoe shop on Broadway up by school, and I was WILD with no sleep, no more finals, and a box of new shoe.
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