The last time I had felt so awkward was when I was convinced that I was the most conspicuous virgin at the school disco. Anxiety had pounced. How was I going to pretend to be normal for two whole weeks of an internship?
Don't get me wrong, I was very grateful for the opportunity to work for the company, but the natural stress that everyone feels when they start a new job was as hard to shake as Taylor Swift (if the tabloid reports are to be believed). With just a fortnight to make a good impression, I hoped my red blotches, cold sweats and oddly eerie nervous laughter would cease soon. I wouldn't have blamed my colleagues for thinking I was an out-of-shape witch with a skin condition. I was so terrified of looking odd that I looked, well, odd.
Gradually I began to lose some of my more acute symptoms. For instance, my face no longer looked like a tomato at all times and I had no resemblance to the 'Before' segment of an anti-perspirant advert any more, either. Everyone in the office was very nice and accommodating, too. Despite this, I still felt that I was struggling to fully project the confident persona that I have in other areas of my life.
I found the solution on a night out (and no, it wasn't vodka. Turning up to work sloshed wouldn't help with the red-face problem or the whole trying to be professional thing). I was actually at a friend's birthday party when Beyoncé's Crazy in Love came on. My natural reaction was to begin gyrating, even though I knew that I looked more like a child having an energetic tantrum than a sex goddess. I had only had the one drink, so I am afraid that my behaviour cannot even be blamed on inebriation. I am just like this. My friends joined in, despite the glares of some nearby, who were obviously not fans of mindless flailing. With that, I realised that you can't please everyone, but the very least that you can do to make life a little easier is to please yourself. The following Monday, I walked to work with a confident strut Beyoncé would be proud of.
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