I'm totally cheating by back dating this post. We color outside the lines around here.
So the test. Tuesday night I managed to completely paralyze myself and convince myself I was going to fail the test. And have to wait six months to retake it. And lose my job. And die of shame and ignorance. (Dramatic? Me?) Wednesday I woke up feeling slightly more optimistic, but not much, which I'm assuming is why my superstition kicked in so strongly. Suddenly it was extremely, life or death important that I find the perfect test-ass kicking outfit to wear. And I did. Dark wash flare jeans, black grandpa cardigan, black cami, black wedge boots, and my dog tags with the kids' names on them. Casual but pulled together. Comfortable. And I felt confident. In short, the perfect ensemble. The only snag was that I couldn't find my favorite tank top (the one that hides my "two kids, the last of who was over ten pounds" belly and makes the girls look awesome) in the Kilamanjaro of laundry and had to settle for the way too clingy, low-cut, and a bit too shiny one. No matter, I buttoned the sweater and moved on.
I pulled up to the testing center, a run down office complex in a run down part of town, to find an ambulance parked in front. Never a good sign. Walked in to find no emergency, breathed a sigh of relief, and sat down. Two women were in front of me, so I waited. Finally, after what felt like hours but was really about twenty minutes, it was my turn. The proctor took my ID, handed me my scratch paper, and assigned me Terminal 13. Seriously Then she asked me to empty my pockets. I dumped my keys and wallet into the file folder and turned out my pockets. Then she asked if my sweater had pockets. So I showed her inside the teeny-weeny, totally decorative little patch pockets on my sweater. And she told me I couldn't wear it in. Apologetically, but still. She said it was plenty warm, but didnt mention that the fan would be pointed right at me. I didn't point out that I was more concerned about showing my back fat than being warm enough. I was going to point out that my pants had pockets but didn't want to press my luck. So I took my test, in essentially my underwear, at Terminal 13. And passed. It's totally my lucky shirt now.