When half a dress is my whole problem

My membership in the sisterhood of the feminist pants has been called into question.

Now I’m being recruited for the judgemental ¬†shrew society.

I couldn’t just focus on the policy briefing on living wage legislation. I couldn’t take her seriously. Not for lack of smarts or effective presentation.

All because I couldn’t get over the 4 inches of exposed skin above her knee and below her hemline.
I have no idea where it came from – this disdain or disapproval. I’m hardly a model for professional attire. In my nonprofit universe, I don’t exactly have to dress in suits, but I would say fairly boring or conservative is my ‘look’. ¬†Mostly because I have no fashion sense.

But that’s not the point. The point is I professional-shamed this woman. For 45 seconds or so, I assumed this woman didn’t take her job seriously, didn’t respect her audience’s professional status, and was just plain wrong.

I was wrong. All I had to do was listen. And learn. This woman was way smarter than me, and was doing work that I respected.

Oy. This life is hard enough. This world is hard. I don’t want to contribute to that hardness, coldness, and general nastiness.

Tomorrow, as they say, is another day. I’m going to try to put my pants on one humble leg at a time.

 

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