The dress code of my office is this highly amorphous manifestation of "office casual," which I choose to define as "restricting undergarments as much as humanly possible." Which means, when I can get away with it, I will appear in my office bra-less. Not in the sense of WHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO IT'S JUGGY TIME or IAmWomanSeeMyNipples, but in the sense of: I'm wearing a camisole with a built-in shelf bra which is basically the same as a strapless bra which is highly uncomfortable for me and bulky-looking for you, so this whole camisole thing is a win-win situation, am I right? Well. Today I was running late due to unforseen circumstances (read: Tink arises at 5AM. Tink stands in the bathroom wondering why she has arisen at 5AM. Tink returns to bed until precisely one hour before she is expected to report, bra'ed or not, to the Graph Paper Paradise.) I had to pull together an outfit in like four seconds, which I hate doing; outfit-pulling-together is a highly stressful task for a person who spent twelve years in Catholic school uniforms and the four after that almost exclusively in a "Ballroom Dance Like a Champion Today" tshirt and Umbros. It's been unseasonably and of course disgustingly humid the past couple of days, so I pulled on a black tank top with the shelf-bra and a gauzy college skirt that is absolutely one of my favorites, largely because it still fits. I paused for just a second over the tank top, debated wearing a little sweater over it for .0000001 milliseconds, then decided not to because 1) I hate little sweaters 2) I hate any sweaters 3) It's Florida. Also many of the women in this office fling cleavage around like nobody's business, so I'm figuring that a whole bunch of bare shoulder isn't going to be an issue. Well. I saw my supervisor very briefly this morning as she whirled through my office, and then later on in the day I passed her in the break room as I claimed my 57,824th water refill of the morning. She looked up at me, her eyes went huge, and she went "WOAH!" and I froze, like, did I leave the house with a rabid wombat in my hair and nobody thought to drop me a memo about it? And she said, "You have NO clothes on today, woman!" "I don't?" I said. “I bet you’re hearing that from everyone today,” she said. “Not… really,” I said, because not... really. But still. I took my water on a field trip to the bathroom and as I washed my hands I happened to look up into the mirror and HOLY CRAP YOU CAN SO TOTALLY SEE EVERYTHING. Hooray for fluorescent lighting! Hooray for Everything! Hooray! So I took lunch in my office and am navigating through the day by fleeing through the corridors with a strategically placed file folder. It's like that whole I-showed-up-at-work-naked-nightmare, only I really did show up at work naked and the alarm clock ain't ringin'. (I just had a brief team meeting with my supervisor, and totally did the whole holding-my-arms-up-over-my-boobs thing with my hands clasped up by my chin as if I am really a very very holy altar girl instead of this, like, braless, gauzy skirt-wearing floozy.) I do not think I belong here. In this office. Or on the planet.

October 14, 2003

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