this morning standing in front of the stove and i look down at my wrinkly black pants and i realize they probly won't slide at work, not with my evaluation this week and knowing that my supervisor makes careful notations in rows of tiny boxes, whether i present a professional appearance, whether i smile grandly and open the doors for people, or type swiftly with nails painted with jaunty american flags, so i plug in the iron and attempt to straighten my pant legs, holding them away from my ankles, balancing myself in precarious arrangements and my cat watches and he looks like he is laughing at me.