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Let me share the events that led to me, BOMBING the interview I had for my dream job. A very lucrative job that I happened to have turned down three years ago - because I didn't want to relocate to D.C., where I now live. Go figure.

Anxious, excited and nervous for the big interview, I pack my gym bag so I could hit spin class and get ready at the gym. This was my brilliant plan to work off all the nerves and walk into the interview cool, calm and collected. As opposed to how I feel after attempting to get ready at home, with toddler Ava, who is far to0 curious about my body in the shower and morphs into a WWF wrestler when I attempt to apply eyeliner.

I meticulously pack my gym bag with a pencil skirt, a modest modern sheer blouse, an appropriately nude bra and undershirt, professional heels, nylons, etc.

The sitter arrived right on time to watch my toddler while my oldest is at school. I snag my bag from Ava, who of course has it open and the contents completely disheveled, and head off to the gym. I had planned everything down to the minute, 50 minutes of spin, 10-minute shower, 20 minutes for hair and makeup, check! Now, to get dressed. This is where my day dove face first down disaster hill!

Nylons: why does it look like I wore these in a barbed-wire hurdles event? Sigh, Ava had caught them up in the zipper while "helping me" rearrange the contents of the bag. " Oh, well," I think to myself. I can pull off no hose; Thank God, I shaved my legs. Skirt, heels, bra... Bra? Where the hell is my bra? You have to be kidding me. I'll be late to the interview if I go home for a bra. Of course, I couldn't just wear my sports bra that day. I had worn one of those normally "awesome" fitness tops with the bra sewn in. Today, I loath this clever innovation!

Well, after concluding my only option was poor posture with my shoulders rolled forward, I decided I would attempt to keep my blouse from making contact with my chest. I ended up at the interview looking like "Tits McGee" in a room where they forgot it was NOVEMBER. With the ac on full blast, no nylons and a peanut butter handprint on the rump of my skirt. That, I might add, I didn't see until I got home. I was so flustered that "confident and competent" are the last things on the interview team's mind. The critically arched brows and flared nostrils of one interviewer and complete lack of eye contact from the men on the panel confirmed that I would not be getting a call back.

On my drive home, knowing I had just BOMBED my interview and stifling back tears, I tried to gain perspective and tell myself that the day's events just meant it wasn't meant to be. The girls must still need me at home. Upon walking through the door, my little Ava begins screaming, "No, No, No," and launched into a flailing whirlwind of tantrums and poop. With a deep breath, I reminded myself that this time at home with my children is a short-lived opportunity.

I may also have made a mental promise to my youngest that when she is 16, I will be walking her into school every day, in the exact outfit she sent me of in for my interview.

- Emily Woolf

Emily Woolf is a wife, mother, group fitness instructor and former consumer studies teacher who enjoys fitness and blogging. When she's not chasing after her three spirited girls, teaching or helping clients learn how to work out, she manages a health, fitness and family life blog and a Facebook page called Full of Grit. She does not consider herself a writer - just someone with a knack for finding herself in humorous situations where you can choose to laugh or cry.