This Just In -- The World Does Not Revolve Around Me

Contrary to popular opinion, it turns out that I am not the center of the universe. Who knew?

You did? I just wish you had told me earlier.

Before I spent an embarrassing number of hours trying to find the "perfect" outfit for yesterday's A.I.R. Awards luncheon (described by Michael Klein in today's Philadelphia Inquirer as "sort of the local Emmys for radio.")

Forgetting two major factors:

1) It's radio folk, and generally being stylish in radio means you wear the shirt without the holes and cheese doodle stains.

2) Nobody really gives a rat's derriere what I wear.

But none of that reality stuff intruded into my thought process during the past few days -- and I probably expended more brain power on this garb issue than has been applied to solving global warming.

Blame it on some form of obsessive-compulsive disorder...like tunnelvision...only the tunnel is lined with various camisoles, jackets and necklaces.

It was like I was possessed by the spirit of Steven Cojocaru or something.

I was just way too fixated on looking hip and, most importantly, 10 pounds thinner than I actually am.

For those of you who haven't memorized every word of my blog, I had been planning on wearing a long velvet coat/jacket. However, two days before the event, I realized that no matter how cool I thought the style was, the jacket itself was really, really hot.

The slight chance that I might win the award I was nominated for (which would require something vaguely resembling an acceptance speech in front of hundreds of people) was enough to send me spiralling into a very dark and obsessive place.

Never fear, I won't go through the entire psychotic process (except to mention hours were spent hand-altering a Target camisole - thereby turning a $9.99 purchase into couture. Which I didn't wear.)

In the end, a last minute Old Navy purchase brought me peace of mind:

I was looking good...

But (and here's the amazing part) NOBODY* CARED.

That's not hard to understand now -- after it's all over.

For, believe it or not, there wasn't a spotlight following me when I entered the ballroom.

In fact, in a room packed with egos of varying sizes, nobody* was the least bit aware of my fashion statement (although I'm still somewhat convinced that they would have noticed if my blubbery areas hadn't been so well hidden...)

Though my outfit obsession might seem to indicate otherwise, I didn't expect to win...and (I do so love it when I'm right) it turns out that I did not win.

Genuine relief ensued.

Only then could I relax (and actually eat the dessert that I had been afraid would mess up my lipstick.)

Hopefully I learned a valuable life lession. Next time, I'm wearing jeans and my American Apology tee-shirt.

*Full disclosure: My husband did care. He's a caring kind of guy.