by Shari Dinkins

Mutual funds. Toothpaste. Liquor. Some days I pushed port; others bio. lab services. I wrote copy. I designed ads. I sat with boards of directors. I sat with small businessmen. I struggled with budgets of less than a thousand dollars; I luxuriated in budgets of over a million dollars.

I dressed in what I liked to call my “near-suit.” A mismatched skirt and blazer; a suit jacket with a sweater-like skirt in matching hue; loose linen trousers and a cropped suit jacket the color of army fatigue. I streamed into boardrooms in cowboy boots, a clutch of black boards under my arm. My long, tangled ash-blonde hair left a scent of expensive hair product in its wake. I smiled and sat, confident. Glancing around, I waited until my boss, the best creative director ever, introduced me. It was like Hollywood, Circe de Soleil and a prize fight rolled into one.

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