Let the anxiety begin....

Tomorrow night is Ross' company dinner in Park City.  There aren't a lot of instructions about the dress, but I figured it was one step above church, but limited on the number of sequins per outfit.  A tough road for me to haul considering my entire day, every day is spent in jeans and a stripped t-shirt.  Or jeans and a stripped sweater.  I own a lot of stripes.

Business causal?  Semi-formal?  Sunday dress?  Semi-formal?  I cannot figure any of this stuff out.

Anyway, thanks to my in-laws right after Thanksgiving I had a couple of hours to myself, which never usually happens, so I went shopping for something to wear.  Since then, I've tried the outfit on several times, not sure if it really works.  On Monday I purchased my first pair of Spanx to make the outfit fit a little bit better.   Still not sure.  I bought some new shoes, but fear the heel is too tall and I'll be towering over my husband.  I mean, I'm a bit of an amazon in my regular life, do I really need shoes with a heel?

I had a baby three months ago and I'm super jiggly and my hair is really short.  I pretty much feel like Fiona the Ogre from Shrek every where I go.  Jeans and stripped t-shirts and a little big of make-up to make life bearable every day do not a fancy night out on the company dollar make.

Today, the anxiety has hit.  Maybe if I don't wear the skirt?  Maybe if I find a different sweater?  Maybe if I go to another store to look for shoes?  Who is going to talk to me?  Who am I going to let make me feel like a dork because I'm a stay at home mom who they think doesn't have anything to talk about?  Who is going to say something to me that will make me feel stupid?  What happens if someone does try to talk to me but I get nervous and freeze like I did as a little girl and just stare like a spaz?

You get the point?  I can confidently teach a lesson to a ballroom of people no sweat.  I can host a small party with people I know at my house.  I cannot make small talk with strangers.  I cannot remember peoples names.  I cannot go find someone to talk to.  I can sweat and stutter and look like a dork.  New social situations paralyze me, let alone having to talk to someone while I'm eating.

So, I've been sick to my stomach all morning fretting over something totally insignificant (first world problems, I know.).  Okay, more than fretting.  Sweating and nauseous.  I've held my skirt in my hand.  I've looked at all my shoe options.  I've held the sweater up to other skirts in my closet.

I might cry.

Imagine how I'll be tomorrow.  When I actually have to get dressed.  When I have to comb my short hair in a way that I don't look like a boy.  When I have to put on a little bit more make-up than my everyday barely there, but I don't really know how to wear make-up.

I might need to call in sick.