soapboxdiner

Will someone please amend the dress code?

My day:

Wake up. Groan. Hit the snooze.

Wake up again. Groan, roll over and get up.

Bathe.

Go to work. Print some reports and past histories for conference.

Go the to printer.

Pass the front desk. Take note that Hoochie Mama is in the house. She's wearing a blue dress. Allow me to paint a picture of this dress.

It's about this >.< big. It is electric blue. It is spandex.

Yes, spandex. I'm NOT kidding.

It looks like a tiny blue inner tube stretched across two to three too many curves.

I think, "Am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

I play it off with, "Oh my good gracious stars in the heavens, child." She looks like she's ready for a hose down. Suki suki now.

(Classless no sense having tramp.)

Get my reports off the printer. Return to my desk.

See from out the corner of my eye a volumptuous ball of electric blue spandex throwing strobes of fluorescent light. Turn to check if it's the flashing "Fire! Fire! Code Red, Code Red!" light of the hospital emergency system. Discover it is Hootchie Girl squatting in front of the filing cabinet. In all her glory.

Discover to my horror and dismay that her ample apples of gluteal protuberances are harnessed by nothing but transparent spandex and a sequinned thong.

Yes, sequinned thong. Under spandex.

Wonder breifly what would happen if someone brought in an Avon rep and some blue eye shadow.

Shudder and avert from eyes. But not before the tragic discovery of the strappy white pump.

Yes, strappy white pump.

Begin to wonder if there is any Aqua Net on premises.

Return to work. Interoffice mailing. Good times.

Complete my mission. Take the mail to central processing for courier pick up. Stop by the lab to query: "Is it me, or are sequinned thongs under spandex just so last season?" Query again, "Does she not know her hootchie mama ass is showing? Should I tell her her ass is just a wee bit too prominently displayed?"

Decide against it. Shudder and hope it all goes away. Try hard to not look at Hootchie Girl, but like a bad train wreck, cannot will my eyes away from surruptitious re-checks of the spandex sequin ass horror-awe.

Go to lunch. Return. Note Hootchie Girl is now clad in a tea-length sweater.

"Cold, Hootchie Girl?"

Oh yes. But thank the All Powerful Mighty Lord in Heaven that Micro(Vice)Manager had this sweater!

Indeed, I think.

Work some more. Eh, maybe another four or five hours.

Turn my computer off and pack it up for the day. Walk my paperwork over to file. Note Hootchie Girl follow me in general direction but then veer those two steps to the restroom.

"I couldn't believe it!" she exclaims.

"What's that?" I bite.

"I've worn this dress before, but always with a shirt over it! I didn't today and Micro(Vice)Manager told me you could see right through it! I was so embarassed!"

"You don't say? See through? Like - see through? Well, I wouldn't worry about it, HG. I'm sure no one noticed (your dimply butt adorned in sequins and tethered in with barely existent lycra) your predicament."

If I were her, I'd be more embarassed at the strappy white pump. Damn, man.

11:23 pm - 08.12.03
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