"I AM WEARING THE JEANS WITH NO ASS IN THEM TO WORK"
Yesterday, researchgrrrl had a no good, very bad day:
All of the classic Monday stuff -- storm knocked out power, no alarm, overslept on a day when I was specifically supposed to be at work early, and so on -- covered. Check. No worries...
Behind me, I heard some guys sitting on one of the apartment porches start to catcall and yell, "Hey! Hey! Baby! Hey!"
Assholes, I thought, assuming they were fucking with me because, yeah, I'd dressed in a panic and, yeah, I looked like hell. I handed my check off to Stacy then bolted back to the car. I made a point of not looking at the catcalling guys, just flipped 'em off as I was getting into my car...The back of my leg itched and I squirmed. I'd just done laundry yesterday and the tickle felt like a stupid dryer sheet which, yeah, typical of a Monday for me.
Except that when I got to work and, unfurling from my wee car, I reached back to scratch at the back of my leg...and felt skin.
My skin. My bare skin.
I had pulled on the jeans that I had modified for Mason to play in, where he can tunnel and have various points of entrance and exit for crazy-mad ferret romping.
I AM WEARING THE JEANS WITH NO ASS IN THEM TO WORK.
Worse? I am wearing the one pair of lollipop red underwear that I own, which means that from the back? I am presenting like an orangutan in estrus.
I did the world's most panicked yank-off-my-hoodie-tie-it-around-my-waist move and flung myself into Joyce's office, gibbering the story. She covered her eyes and began to shake with silent laughter.
"You're insane," she said. "Go to your room and don't come out today. Just...go to your room."
Still mid-flailing, I hitched up the hoodie, whipped around to show her how bad the rip is, and started to ask if she'd care if I wore a lab coat home today.
And, in turning, that's when I saw everyone else in the office.
oh my god
If anyone needs me? I'll be under my desk, curled in fetal position. You can't miss me. The screaming scarlet of my underwear and the phosphoric glow of my pasty white flesh will be plenty hard to miss, as will the howls and anaerobic laughter thundering through the building.
All of the classic Monday stuff -- storm knocked out power, no alarm, overslept on a day when I was specifically supposed to be at work early, and so on -- covered. Check. No worries...
Behind me, I heard some guys sitting on one of the apartment porches start to catcall and yell, "Hey! Hey! Baby! Hey!"
Assholes, I thought, assuming they were fucking with me because, yeah, I'd dressed in a panic and, yeah, I looked like hell. I handed my check off to Stacy then bolted back to the car. I made a point of not looking at the catcalling guys, just flipped 'em off as I was getting into my car...The back of my leg itched and I squirmed. I'd just done laundry yesterday and the tickle felt like a stupid dryer sheet which, yeah, typical of a Monday for me.
Except that when I got to work and, unfurling from my wee car, I reached back to scratch at the back of my leg...and felt skin.
My skin. My bare skin.
I had pulled on the jeans that I had modified for Mason to play in, where he can tunnel and have various points of entrance and exit for crazy-mad ferret romping.
I AM WEARING THE JEANS WITH NO ASS IN THEM TO WORK.
Worse? I am wearing the one pair of lollipop red underwear that I own, which means that from the back? I am presenting like an orangutan in estrus.
I did the world's most panicked yank-off-my-hoodie-tie-it-around-my-waist move and flung myself into Joyce's office, gibbering the story. She covered her eyes and began to shake with silent laughter.
"You're insane," she said. "Go to your room and don't come out today. Just...go to your room."
Still mid-flailing, I hitched up the hoodie, whipped around to show her how bad the rip is, and started to ask if she'd care if I wore a lab coat home today.
And, in turning, that's when I saw everyone else in the office.
oh my god
If anyone needs me? I'll be under my desk, curled in fetal position. You can't miss me. The screaming scarlet of my underwear and the phosphoric glow of my pasty white flesh will be plenty hard to miss, as will the howls and anaerobic laughter thundering through the building.