Where I work you can only wear jeans if you have paid a charity for the privilege, and then it’s just for the day that particular charity is gathering funds in the lobby. You wear the charity’s sticker to attest that you paid for the jeans privilege. I wear my sticker on my bottom, because I hate stickers. (I admit I could not do that to the US flag sticker on Veteran’s Day. I did put it on my lapel, upside down, since I am sailing in distress.)
Every jeans day it’s a long walk through the lobby, because I always suspect that I got the day wrong, and it isn’t actually jeans day. It’s always a great relief when I see the first person in jeans.
Tuesday, that relief did not come. I got the day wrong. I found myself upstairs explaining my screw-up to the department chairman. He encouraged me to stay in my chair as much as possible.
That was Tuesday. The actual jeans day was on Thursday. I promised everyone I would dress up Thursday, while everyone else is in jeans, to restore balance to the universe.
I wore pearls and a suit. And one of Gary's shirts. And one of his ties.
(If you are wondering why my eyes are brown pools of sadness, it’s because I had just rejected a photo Friend 3 took earlier that day. Friends, don't take photos of friends while you are sitting down and they are standing up in front of you. Stand your butt up so you don't take a photo of all their wattle. On the other hand, my head looks freakishly huge in this photo above. My arms are too short to take selfies.)
So I thought I looked ridiculous. I had a speech in my head for people who might look at me oddly in the elevator.
I tell, you, friends, all that people said was "You look nice today." What. The Hell. Is it the norm now for grown women to wear ties? I actually asked someone that today, and he said "Not often. But skanky girls wear them when they go clubbing."
My joke fell so flat that I had to point out my appearance to one of the people who were expecting me to "dress up," and he said, "Oh, I was expecting you to show up in a ballgown."