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Interview

So I have a job interview next week. I’m not worried about my qualifications in this case. I know what they need me to know and I can do what they need done. Based on the phone conversation I had with the woman who set up the interview, she will like me.

Naturally, I am now paranoid about what to wear.

I can do professional dress. I own a black suit, which I bought for my last job interview with a nice blue shirt. Or I can wear it with the green silk blouse I bought myself as a splurge that always catches people’s eyes. But that might be overkill for an interview at a start-up with twelve employees.

I know I can’t wear my new favorite shoes, which I bought in the kids’ section at Target. They are black tennis shoes with a purple flower stencil on the outer heel and lavender laces. Insanely comfortable and they make me smile. No jeans, natch.

The thing is, the subtext of the job posting suggests that what the company really needs is a mom. Someone to make sure they have their permission slips signed and that they eat their vegetables. Someone both stern and nurturing. So I’m thinking black pants. Flats. An attractive but no-nonsense top, like, say, the Ann Taylor short sleeved sweater shell my mom bought me. Maybe makeup, but maybe not.

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jan_can_too
jan_can_too

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