I’m wearing a dress today to work. If you were using the reaction of the laides at work as a gauge for how shocking that is, the reading would be OFF THE FREAKING CHARTS. It’s 11:40 right now, and the comments about my dress are still coming in about every 15 minutes. Some observations can me made here:
1.) Though it is nice to be noticed, there is a limit to how much “notice” I find comfortable.
2.) Being 30 years younger than everyone I work with is B-I-Z-A-R-R-E.
and 3.) The air conditioner in this building works really, really well.
Yeah. Think I’m going to stick with the pants from now on. But it’s been a nice experiment. I guess I’m just not as comfortable with my knees as I used to be. I might be more comfortable if my legs were tan, but when choosing between ‘tan with skin cancer’ or ‘pale’ I go ‘pale’ every time, EASY CHOICE. Live long, wear pants. Not a bad slogan.
In good, and very much work-related news, a girl my age got a job at the same school as me. (Not in my very department, but three buildings down.) Not only did she get a job here, but she also got a house that’s in my neighborhood, and all of the sudden I have a buddy. A girl buddy that lives in my neighborhood and likes dogs and walking and bad TV. How on Earth did this happen? She and I are planning to carpool to the office. We’re going to be green for ALL FOUR MILES round trip. Welcome, Jennifer, to the goodness that is Never Being In Rushhour Traffic.