Dear Tom Selleck . . .
A few weeks ago, in the midst of the second biggest crisis of my life, I forgot my pants. Luckily, I was still in my bathroom. I was running late for my lunch shift and have almost no curtains in my magic cottage, so I ran as fast as I could to my bedroom. I never run. Ever.
But suddenly, I felt free. Not late and hurried and worried. Free. I stopped to breathe and to laugh when I glanced at my mirror. I had run through my house in my Wonder Woman Underoos for the first time since I was a kid. I hadn't planned it. It just happened. It felt amazing. So, I did it again. And again. And again. And then I put on my socks and I did it again, so I could slide across my hardwood floor. I didn't care who may walk or drive past or come to my door and see me. I was Wonder fucking Woman. At least until I donned my waitress blacks and went in to serve the people. Even then, I just thought, "Do you even know who I am?! I am Wonder fucking Woman.", every time someone tried to treat me like the help.
I only wait tables for fun, and I'll keep doing it long after I'm discovered. What most of my customers don't know, is that I did my time in corporate and now run my own business. I could probably fix their businesses. I just don't want to. Kind of like growing up hearing how I could be the class valedictorian, if I just applied myself. I just didn't want the pressure. I also could have taken the fast path to management in corporate. I just didn't want to deal with other people's bullshit. Unless you had a dick and an accent, no one could hear you in corporate.
I traded in my big blue corporate pants for waitress blacks 5 years ago, this month. I thought I knew what I was doing, why I was doing it, and how it was all going to turn out. I could not have been more wrong.
I went looking for my big blue corporate pants a month or so ago. I had no choice. I was going to have to sell my soul and slither back to them. I would just blend in and bide my time while the people with dicks and accents made all of my decisions for me. Someday, I would be retired with the rest of the herd and spend the rest of my days in a comfortable retirement village. The American fucking Dream. Not mine.
But when I found my big blue corporate pants and put them on, magic started to happen. It's like I had a dick and an accent. Everything I had been saying was finally heard. Finally. Things started to change for the better. Quickly.
I now wear my proverbial big blue corporate pants over my Underoos every day. It's my corporate dress code. Not the people with dicks and accents. My corporate policy. Mine. I'm in charge now. I am Wonder fucking Woman.
Edie B. Kuhl