Joined at the Hip

Following the one-month anniversary of life with my new partner, it was time to subject the relationship to the new test - life with a job.

Having a new 'bling bling' on the scene is great while you are unemployed and with plenty of time on your hands (supposedly) to get to know one another.  The standard uniform of the jobless also allowed for strengthening of the new team in the form of pockets (mainly located on tracksuit pants). 

All good things must come to an end, and eventually (although without significant effort on my part) a job was acquired, which commenced July 19.  It was the next test of the relationship, opening up a whole new world of challenges.

The first day in my new job (working on Activity Centresas part of the Melbourne 2030 implementation team for the State Government - hold onto your hats with excitement!) started in usual first-day fashion with a few intro's followed by 'read these reports until we figure out what to do with you'.  By late afternoon I found myself in the sister building, meeting some people from another department and trying to look professional and happy to be there.  Suddenly, I sneezed hard, leaning over from the force (I had a cold).  I stood back up, and noticed something was funny.  The people I were speaking to weren't looking at my face, but lower.  I seemed to have an unsightly bulge in my cleavage, which as the conversation progressed, slowly headed south.  The discomfort drew my attention, and realising I was about to have a dangly pager hanging from out of my skirt any minute, I said, 'whoops, excuse my pump', and quickly moved it onto my side and out of the limelight.  An uncomfortable pause followed, and it was only later when I wondered what they must have thought when I was talking about a pump falling from my breast.

A brief scan of my 'business' attire wardrobe immediately indicates two things: a) I don't actually possess a business wardrobe, and b) the clothes I try to pass off as semi professional are almost entirely without pockets.

This brings us to the new challenge - how to store my new love without the comfort of a bike jersey or daggy track pants?  Sticking it into the side of my waist, somehow wedged between my hip, jocks and skirt/pants only allows for the opportunity to lose the damn machine down the void on the outside of my leg beneath my clothing, or worse, getting tangled up with my jocks which is only discovered on attending the toilet in haste.  The cleavage seems to be a more viable option than first thought - I think the winter coat may have added a size there which covers my third breast almost completely.  However, it can get a little heated there which causes concern for insulin durability/longevity.  The remote tool on my keyring has also been handy for this, as it is much better to count the beeps outloud than to lift up my shirt and play with my bra.  I have on one occasion been caught out 'adjusting myself' to a colleague when the pump wasn't settled into the cleavage.  Mental note to be a little bit more discrete when in the company of management..