Words to live by: never underestimate a short blonde woman in a fabulous pantsuit.

But they did. They always did.

I liked to think of myself as a cross between Veronica Lake and Katherine Hepburn, with a splash of Lucille Ball thrown in. My resting Kate face was on point and thanks to my hair stylist BFF, my blonde waves were too. But I seemed to always find myself in ridiculous situations and putting my foot in my mouth; enter Lucy.

Okay, so I was probably more than a splash of Lucy. More like a whole gallon. Or a swimming pool.

But things were going to change. This week I was starting fresh. New house, new job, and new attitude. No more Lucy, a lot more Kate.

I flopped down on my couch, the only empty spot in my living room filled with boxes. I’d moved into my fixer upper rowhouse a week ago and hadn’t made much progress unpacking. Yet. Old me was overwhelmed by the thought of organizing and putting everything away. New me loved order and tidiness.

New me just hadn’t quite shown up yet.

I opened the box closest to the couch and peeked inside. Books. Well, that was one box that would have to wait until later since I hadn’t actually put together my new book shelves yet. I opened the next box and smiled. Kitchenware.

I lugged the box into my open kitchen, the room that convinced me to buy the house. It was the only space in the narrow rowhouse that had been updated recently, with pale bamboo floors, a plethora of white Shaker cabinets, and quartz countertops so beautiful I wanted to kiss them. But I wouldn’t do that because I was the new me.

Just a quick peck wouldn’t hurt, right?

I set the heavy box down and blew my countertops a kiss. Baby steps.

Opening the cardboard, I smiled again at the contents. Vintage orange Le Crueset cookware I’d found for a steal at a secondhand store. I’d had it since law school, when my kitchen consisted of a hot plate and microwave, but I couldn’t pass it up when I spotted it. I knew one day I’d have the kitchen of my dreams where I could put it to good use.

I carefully unpacked each heavy piece and found a spot for everything in a cabinet next to my gas stove. I’d have to have a housewarming party soon so I could cook for everyone. Of course that meant I’d have to unpack all my boxes and make my place presentable. Maybe if I sent out an invitation, I’d have a deadline to motivate me. Or I could call it an unpacking party and con my friends into doing the organizing for me.

Loopholes were my favorite. I was a lawyer after all.

I unpacked a few more boxes in the kitchen and gave myself a pat on the back and permission to take a break. At this rate, I might be done unpacking by next month. Conning my friends was sounding more and more reasonable.

Walking up a flight of narrow stairs whose carpet had seen better days ten years ago, I went into the master bedroom— the one room that was mostly put together— and opened my closet.

The closet was the other thing that sold me on this house. At some point over the years, a genius had taken several feet from the bedroom to construct a glorious walk-in closet. The intention had probably been for a husband and wife to share it, but it was mine, all mine.

The flooring was the original narrow-plank oak hardwoods and I’d put down a few fluffy faux sheepskin rugs to warm it up. The lighting had been just an exposed bulb with a chain attached, but I added a tiny chandelier to class up the joint. The walls were a creamy off-white, mostly covered by the Ikea closet system.

I ran my hands along my suits and sighed. Along with my Le Crueset, I’d started collecting suits in law school as well. My first came from the same secondhand shop I’d found my cookware. It was a lipstick red Ann Taylor pantsuit. I still owned it, though it was a smidge snug in the booty region. When I tried on my first suit, a rush of power came over me and I wasn’t silly, bumbling, blonde Laurel. I’d transformed into powerful, educated, future-corporate attorney Laurel. That’s Ms. Campanella to you.

My closet was the first thing I unpacked after I moved. My beautiful suits belonged in my beautiful closet. The were hung by color and season. I was only slightly ashamed to admit how many I had. But counting my internships through law school, I’d been wearing a suit on a daily basis for eight years, so I needed both a summer and winter black pinstripe suit with pants and a skirt, right?

Going from working at a large law firm to being in-house counsel at a tech company would be an adjustment in more ways than one. But after the way I left my firm, I considered myself lucky when my friend Rachel’s husband put me in touch with his friend, Alex, who nabbed me the interview at his company.

I was ready for a change, for a life outside of work and a more laid back atmosphere. But give up my suits? They’d have to pry them out of my cold dead hands.

Sitting on the floor in the middle of my closet, I was at peace surrounded by all my pretties. The clothes didn’t make the woman, but they definitely gave me a confidence boost. So while my new office might be business casual...or just casual, really, I’d be showing up in a chic as hell winter white wool jacket with matching trousers.

I ran my hand through my long hair and it got stuck on a knot. This hair was out of hand. Lately, I’d been so caught up in finding a job, moving, and not unpacking, I’d neglected my hair. Perhaps what I needed before my first day at work was a haircut. After all, my mother had always taken me for back-to-school cuts, and this was basically the same thing, except in the morning I’d pack my briefcase instead of my backpack and my thermos would be filled with coffee instead of spaghetti-o’s.

At this point I’d do anything to avoid the dozens of boxes piled in my living room. A visit to my favorite salon and my best friend sounded like the perfect distraction.