I went out for drinks with the girls from the office last night. It was nice to be out and about but it wasn’t exactly the adventure I’d been hoping for. They spent the better part of two hours discussing outfits for an upcoming work function. At one point I cut in with a special comment – I had to say something; I hadn’t spoken a word all evening. “I feel sorry for you girls,” I said. “Dressing for guys is easy: Standard shirt and pants will usually get you by, add a tie for a special occasion, and a jacket if you need to impress.” I was pretty happy with my input.
“I feel sorry for you,” one of the girls retorted. “I could go to work in a dirndl if I felt like it. Last week I wore a poncho and tights with a floral scarf, and no one said a thing.”
It was a solid argument. Yesterday I got in trouble for having my sleeves rolled up.
“I feel sorry for you,” one of the girls retorted. “I could go to work in a dirndl if I felt like it. Last week I wore a poncho and tights with a floral scarf, and no one said a thing.”
It was a solid argument. Yesterday I got in trouble for having my sleeves rolled up.