Somehow I've ended up in something resembling a professional job. Almost. It's like I've got one foot in the door/grave. Sometimes, this feels good. Like as an excuse to wear more tailored clothing. Other times, this sucks and I hate growing up. And on other days, my mind just oscillates and I end up feeling confused. Mike saw this outfit and was like, "It's pretty J. Crew." To which I said, "these tights have a big run in them." And the shoes have to count for something, right?