Day Twenty-four

I was told today I dress inappropriately at work. Apparently my outfit yesterday was “distracting”. People, I had on a black turtle neck sweater, grey skirt, opaque black tights and heels.  My turtle neck was far from tight, my skirt wasn’t short although the bottom layer was black so against the tights it may have appeared shorter that it was, and my heels were far from knock-me-down-and-fuck me height.  The only thing exposed besides my face was my hands. GASP!

It’s maddening! I wouldn’t take issue with a dress code if it was applied to everyone. There is an obese woman who wears a pair of black pants with a run in the back at least twice a week.  Another woman dresses like a bag lady and comes to work with wet hair, one guy wears a nylon tee-shirt to work weekly and don’t even get me started about the lady that has a camel toe every fucking Friday!  And yet, my outfits are inappropriate. It’s like I’m in a twilight zone episode.

Either I’m having a drink or someone is getting stabbed and since I’m determined to make it to 30 days without alcohol, looks like I’m going to needs some help cleaning up and an alibi.

Seven. More. Days.

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