Wardrobe Junction, What's Your Malfunction?
Two things! Both clothing related. (Hello, THEME!)
But did you know that these people have sung songs in my very own living room? Did you know that one of those songs was The Facts of Life theme song? Did you know that you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and then you have...the facts of life? The FACTS OF LIFE?
It is true. We sang that one time! We may have been drinking a little bit.
Anyway, maybe you don't know that the Damn Millionaires are in the process of putting out a new CD, and that they also have a shirt for sale. I am hereby chiming in to note that I have bought my shirt (which I keep typing as "shit," because OF COURSE I do. I have bought my shit, people, have YOU?).
Anyway, I got a girlie shit. You need a shit, too! Go here and get yourself something nice and skeletonny. Go on, and I'll wait.
Did you go? Did you get a shit? Because you only have until the 31st to get one. That is very soon from now.
(You guys, ha ha! That "shit" joke is JUST NOT GETTING OLD for me. I know it is getting old for you. Tough shirt! HA!)
Annnnyway. That's one thing I wanted to talk to you about. The other thing is:
That, guess what I did today? So! We're supposed to wear suits to work, but I am lazy and haven't gone to the dry cleaners, so I just wore a nice skirt and a nice shirt, and figured hey, CLOSE ENOUGH. There aren't a whole lot of female attorneys in our office, and frankly, the men around here are a little confused as to what constitutes "women's office attire" anyway, so I figured that as long as I didn't wear, you know, spandex tie-dye, I would probably be okay. Besides, I looked nice, and put together, and relatively matchy, so whatever. I'm just going to be sitting behind my desk all day anyway! Nobody's even going to notice!
...I thought. I thought this, until the managing partner invited all of the associates, a group that includes myself, to lunch. This has never happened before. (I immediately imagined beatings. It is time for beatings! I thought.)
Immediately, I sent an email to the only other female assocate. The email read, "AHHHH I AM NOT WEARING A SUIT I AM SO FIRED. In happier news, free lunch! Woo! Unless beatings." Despite the...um, INSANE character of this email, she came into my office to review my ensemble (this is what we do all day, Men! We review our clothing choices), and together, we determined that I was probably okay. It was suit like. I was safe. Just play it cool, she advised, and nobody would notice!
And I felt better about things, until I decided to stand up. Now, because there is something Wrong With Me, I always sit on one of my feet. My right foot. I always, always sit on my right foot, and it looks ridiculously uncomfortable, but...it's just what I do! It's how I roll. So, I try to stand up, and THAT is when the heel of my right shoe got hooked in the hem of my skirt, and ripped it the heck out. Rrrrip!
So, now I'm in Not-A-Suit, with a hem dangling down all raggedy, and I must attend a big fancy pants lunch in about...oh, six minutes. So, I panicked. Obviously. I tried taping the hem back, but NOOOOO. Tape = not sufficiently sticky.
So then I started going to assistants, begging someone, ANYONE, for, like, a safety pin, or a needle, or some thread, or SOMEthing, PLEASE.
What was ultimately produced by my MacGuyver-like assistant:
One package dental floss
Y'all. Dental floss.
So, there I was, hysterically trying to stitch dental floss into my skirt before the managing partner came to pick me up for lunch. And as a side note? Y'all, I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SEW. How the fuck do you sew?!
Nevertheless, what is amazing, is that I almost did it. I almost made it. What is not amazing is that: I didn't. And, as I was almost done, I heard someone clearing his throat in my doorway, and looked up from my desk -- where I was sitting with my legs spread apart, my head down, and my skirt bunched up in front of my face, trembling fingers wrapped around a length of dental floss (minty!) and a bitty little needle -- and there was the managing partner.
I just stared at him, and he just stared at me, and finally I said, "Just...give me a minute!" in a falsely cheerful voice. He nodded, CLEARLY PETRIFIED, and walked backwards out of my office, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Hi. I am so, so fired.
ANYWAY. So I guess what I'm saying? In ever so many words? Is that I think you should buy a Damn Millionaires shirt.
And I think you should listen to me, because I'm clearly a pinnacle of fashion today. I'm a fashion icon. Seeing as I'm wearing...you know. Dental floss.