I met my friend Anne Marie through her daughter, Nicole, a classmate of my son Jackson’s at Roaring Brook Elementary School. One day I ran into Anne Marie in the school parking lot minutes before the second grade Literary Tea Party. I was pulling in on two wheels, predictably late. Anne Marie was on time, in her car, changing clothes.
“What are you doing?” I asked, shocked that anyone might think volunteering for an elementary school book reading required any wardrobe consideration.
“I had a work meeting,” she replied, pulling off a beautiful blazer. “Nicole doesn’t like me to come to school in ‘work’ clothes.”
Little seven-year-old Nicole preferred her mother, a brilliant tech professional, to come to school in yoga pants or jeans so as not to call attention to the fact that she worked.