Once more into the something or other

My interview is tomorrow. I’ve ironed my shirt for the first time in months. I’ve also dug out the suit I bought after losing weight last year, and it doesn’t fit me. The jacket seems too small, while the trousers are too big. I can stuff an old cushion down the waistline to keep the trousers up, but I’m not sure what to do about the jacket, unless I try not to breathe in.
Why do I have to wear a suit anyway? Why can’t I turn up in a pair of cut off jeans and a vest? I’d be much more comfortable, and more likely to relax and do well, and it’s not as if I’d be wearing a suit while stacking tins of soup on the shelves, is it? So why do they need to see me in a suit at the interview? It’s just bloody conformity and bloody tradition and bloody annoying.
“Make a good impression” my mum used to say, normally while she was covered in her own vomit and stinking of gin.
I said to Philippa this morning “It’s quite nice to think I might be working again soon.”
She said “Yeah, when you start earning some money we can start saving for a house and start thinking about having a family.”
No pressure, then..

RC 26-4-11