I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt
Look at these ladies, so happy in their scrubs. Yep, they're living it up, doing their little turn on the catwalk.
Maybe not. But I'm soon to join their ranks. No, I'm not going to be a nurse or a model or a lunchroom lady or anyone else whose profession dictates the wearing of scrubs. But I am going to wear scrubs at my workplace . . . home.
Do I think this will make me cool? Mmm-no. Do I want to look like a wannabe or poser? Eh, nah. But do I like the idea of a designated garment for work (uh, I think they call them "uniforms")? Yup, it is pretty appealing.
A hundred and eleven years ago I bought a couple of scrub tops at the local DG (I don't know why so let's just move forward). They're awesomely ugly, really, by fashion standards. Unless you're a kindergartener, maybe. They both have hearts and flowers and sunshines and swirls and saccharine tablets all over them. I've never really worn them, but the other morning I pulled one out of the closet and threw it on. I kind-of-sort-of fell in deep like with scrubs that day. I was smitten, in deep smit.
Here's some reasons. It's made of really lightweight materials. It has pockets and they are amazing. I mean if push came to shove I could maybe tote Pretty Baby in one pocket and Little Big Man in the other. There's always something I'm carrying around . . . a paci, a bunch of tissues, cell phone, snacks, trash I pick up off the floor, toys needing to be transported back to where they actually go as opposed to where the kids think they go (read: everywhere) . . . so well-placed, ample pockets are a major plus.
Also, in my "profession" it's entirely probable that the day will draw to a close with me wearing someone else's bodily fluid. I looked up the reason why nurses wear scrubs (Don't laugh at me. I look up everything. Do YOU know what rank Jimmy Stewart was in the U.S. military? I do. Do YOU know what ever happened to Maxie Priest? I do. Do YOU know what the gross national product of Coite D'Ivoire is? I do. Do YOU know where this one particular friend from my school days is now? If so, let me know. I can't find her anywhere.). This is one nurse's summary statement: "we wear them because on a daily basis, we get blood, stool, urine, vomit, and many other bodily fluids on our clothing". Thank you, sir or madame. My point exactly.
I have ragged out more clothes than I care to remember in the daily ins and outs of caring for children and a home. Admittedly I am not the cleanest cleaner-upper. Even wearing my apron I realize I don't wipe my hands where the apron naturally falls, but just to the sides of it onto my clothes. Weird, I know. I have never claimed of myself anything to the contrary.
SisterFriend and I have had many a discussion, as well as some with KakiBlack, WagStat, and other moms, about the conundrum of this profession . . . working in the home, on the home, for the family, with the family. My SouthBendBro has always acknowledged to SisterFriend the difficulty of her job, being the manager of her home, having to be her own boss and motivator day in and day out. Yeah, that about sums it up. And sometimes "dressing for the job" seems less than required when the job lies within the confines of your own four walls.
But I've got to admit that the FlyLady chic is onto something with the whole concept of getting up and getting dressed, from earrings down to shoes (I am, however, still a little bitter with her over all those emails she sent, gumming up my inbox. How does THAT help me clean out and get organized?!). It's not unlike the adage of "dressing for the job you want"; the job where I'm a little more prepared, a little more organized . . . and where there's a little less laundry to do since I'm wearing my uniform everyday.
So, I confess I am not too sexy for my shirt, but you probably knew that already. I'm just too messy for it. In a sense, I'm winnowing my work wardrobe, and subsequently some laundry, too. As with everything, we'll see how it goes. If it works, awesome. If it doesn't, no biggie. If it causes someone to ask me to assist with an emergency apendectomy or spoon them up some more tater tots, I may rethink the whole thing . . . or just do it.
I'm too sexy for this blog.