Currently, in my closet, I have the capacity to dress as a hoochie mama, a hippie freak, a transient, a 14-year-old boy, or an exotic dancer.
I do not have the clothes of a professional photographer.
What does a professional photographer wear, you might ask? Well. I have no idea. You see, I am not a professional photographer. I am a poser. A dreamer.
I am an unemployed stay-at-home mother of three who has neglected her appearance for too long. I have no idea what is even fashionable right now. I have a pair of khakis in my dresser that I bought in 1995. I consider them my new khakis still. Most of my jeans have holes in them. Oh, and also, all of my pants are loose on me right now, so I need to wear a belt. Unfortunately, my husband is also downsizing, and he’s wearing MY belt. We have ONE nice leather belt between us, and he is wearing it. The other belts are crap.
You know, it’s not that we’re poor. We’re just distracted.
My professional clothes, leftover from an era when I was earning a good wage in the marketing/publishing industry, are all huge on me. I am quite a bit smaller now than I was when I had things like direct deposit, a 401 plan, and self esteem.
So today, I’m going to rock the 14-year-old-boy-who’s-also-lactating-look, with the exotic dancer belt and the hoochie mama shelf undershirt, with my long hippie hair put into a braid. And I’m going to put Andrew in the backpack, sling my awesome Lowepro camera bag over my shoulder, and try to act like a professional.
I’m so nervous I might hurl.