Bad Jokes and Wardrobe Missteps

I saw this license plate on my drive to work this morning (which btw took 40 v. 20ish minutes cuz there was this accident on the 5 that everyone was TOTALLY rubbernecking at, and I did too): 66PLUS1. Does 67 have any significance? (you know I love the license plates game…) I don’t think it does, other than ending in 7 and thus being a number loved by this girl (I LOVE LOVE LOVE 7). I think what she meant was 68PLUS1, or maybe, 66PLUS3. Because you know what that equals…69!!! And honestly, who doesn’t tire of a great 69 joke?

Actually, I think I’m finally over that. Actually I think I got over it when I was like 16 or something. Or 25. Whatever, who’s counting.

This leads me into another really bad joke I was privy to this morning. Scene: I’m at Brian’s desk. Brad walks over to his desk (right across from Brad’s), banana in hand. Dialogue:
Brian: Wow Brad, that’s a big banana you have.
Brad: It’s actually my new cell phone. The Chiquita 100.
--Brad holds banana up to ear and pretends it’s a phone.
Sara: Wow, Brad, that sure was a funny joke.
Brad: Yes, it does have its “a-peel.”
--Sara laughs.
Sara: You get it Brian? A PEEL? Like a banana peel?
Brian: Ha! Oh, oh yeah.

Anyway, I have more important things to discuss than bad jokes this morning. Important might not be the best word, but we’ll use it anyway b/c I can’t think of a better one right now. Here’s the topic: clothing in the workplace – appropriateness. I think I might be crossing a line this morning, but I really don’t care. I don’t go to meetings or interact w/ anyone important unless I see them in the kitchen, so who is going to bust me? I’m wearing the black dress I wore to my bday celebration night recently, a black number. Oh but rest assured, I have a tank underneath it to prevent my enormous cleavage from leaping out. The questionable part is the back, which dips down below my shoulder blades and kind of reveals some bra staps b/c the dress straps are wideset. Not the across the back strap. The vertical ones. Anyway.

Now I think, who cares, cuz everyone knows women have bras on anyway. And mine is really boring and nothing provocative anyway. And I did bring a sweater to cover up the back if need be, but the outfit is so much less cute w/ the sweater. So hmmm….am I crossing lines…that is the question.

This is a topic I thought about frequently at my old company. Well I really didn’t think about it so much as have it shoved down my throat every 2-3 days. My company was run by old people but sustained by the very young, you see (we were all like 23), and in the summer DC is so f’in hot that I think people would have contests with themselves to see how little they could get away with wearing to work. This was one particular damsel who would occasionally bare some midriff, and almost always bare some cleave. She looked good, she was hot, but, you know…work. Office.

B/c of her (I swear, she was in fact the source of the majority of the memos we received if rumors were true) we got frequent email/voicemail reminders of our dress code. Pretty much something like, “Ladies and gents, we would like to remind you of our dress code. Please do not wear midriff-baring tops.” And it’d be funny, cuz I’d talk to Bill or Katie and be like, so did XXXXX wear something risqué the other day? And yeah, totally she did. It was so obvious who the memo source was. And it wasn’t like a 100 person office, it was like 1500, and it was very gossipy anyway. But I don’t think she really cared. B/c it’s not like it happened just once. And you know, that chick got promoted fast, like hot cakes cooking on a griddle (who says that???). So I guess no one really cared.

So maybe showing off my shoulder blades will work for me instead of against me. I think I’ll consider my full time offer in the bag. No wait, I won’t. Having expectations never works for me. So scratch that from the record. But maybe I’ll at least spur some sort of memo about not wearing top-of-back-baring dresses. That would be a fine accomplishment to put on my resume. Suuuuuuuuuuure would.