I spent a solid hour in the bathroom, the executive bathroom mind you, which is like, the *nice* one, before my big presentation today. An hour. Just futzing with my blazer. It’s this new one, charcoal grey, really sharp on the hanger but then I put it on and it just… it just sits weird. Right? Like it’s not supposed to do that. It’s supposed to be professional, sleek, like one of those power suits you see on TV, but on me it just kinda… poofs out right around my stomach. Not even my actual stomach, like the *idea* of my stomach. And it just kept bothering me. I’d smooth it, pull it, try to adjust the shoulders, even tucked my shirt in tighter even though that usually makes it worse. Then I’d step back, turn sideways, suck it in a little, hold my breath. Nothing. Still looked like I was smuggling a small watermelon or something. Not like a big one, just a little baby watermelon. A professional baby watermelon. And I know it’s stupid. It’s just a blazer. But everyone was gonna be there. Everyone. Not just my team, but the regional director, some folks from out of state, even ol’ Farmer McGregor’s nephew, who I’ve known since we were in kindergarten and he still calls me "Miss Sarah" even though we’re the same age and he works in procurement now. It’s not like they care about my blazer, right? They care about the numbers, the projections, the new initiatives for next quarter. But all I could think about was that damn jacket making me look… frumpy. Like I don’t belong there, in that big fancy meeting room, talking about revenue streams and market penetration. Like I should be back home, stirring a pot of something or weeding the garden. Which I usually do, honestly. After work, I’m home, in my old jeans, chasing the chickens. So I stood there, for a full hour, moving this stupid piece of fabric around, just trying to make it look… right. Make *me* look right. I was almost late for the meeting, actually. My assistant had to come knock on the door, all polite, like “Ms. Evans, just a quick reminder…” and I had to just pull myself together, literally, and walk out there and pretend I hadn’t just been having a staring contest with my own midsection in a corporate restroom mirror. I mean, what am I even doing with my life? Sometimes I think about just packing it all in, buying a bigger farm. No blazers needed for that. Just a good pair of overalls and some sensible boots. But then… what would everyone say?