I spent a solid hour this morning making myself look 'effortlessly put together.'

Which means I've now got about a three-hour grace period before humidity, gravity, or my own face decides to stage a coup.

My date was running 15 minutes late, which was actually perfect, because it gave me just enough time...

...to frantically clear the pile of 'clothes I tried on and rejected' from my bed and shove the three empty La Croix cans into the recycling bin, so my apartment looked effortlessly tidy instead of a pre-date war zone.

I just spent twenty minutes drafting an email to a male colleague about a simple project update.

Not because the content was complex, but because I had to make sure I sounded collaborative, not bossy, and then added three exclamation points so I didn't seem cold.

I spilled a tiny drop of coffee on my white shirt this morning.

I immediately pulled out my phone, composed myself, and filmed a dramatic monologue about the fragility of perfection, which I'm planning to submit to Sundance.