Caterwauling

OK, I’m already appalled at how much time it takes for me to get ready in the morning (so much so that I need a fucking NAP afterward), but the time it takes for me to get ready at work is usually minimal.

But then, there was today.

I got into the habit of getting a shower and throwing on jeans back when I was making the tri-state/District commute, as it was comfortable for driving. Now that my driving time is not even a third of that, however, I still throw on comfy clothes because I hate pantyhose and sucking in my ass to fit into whatever work ensemble I have just ironed. Thus, I oftentimes still leave the house in bejeweled flipflops and whatever jeans I had on.

I used to change in the first-floor bathroom, but these days, I do it in my office and oftentimes within my first half-hour of arrival, if something urgent hasn’t arrived first. Or if I really need to see my horoscope. Priorities, friends.

Today I decided to change in the first-floor restroom, for old times’ sake. It was mostly because this odyssey had to require an underwear change.

Now, it wasn’t for any other reason than that you just have different types of gutchies for different occasions. I had thrown on a pair of fire-engine red silk bikinis this morning, which went well under my low-rider Old Navy jeans with the cute decal on the thigh. But I knew that trying to pull off a flimsy linen skirt for the rest of the day (I can’t find any of my slips anywhere. Damn move) would require more, ah, coverage.

Hence, I brought a silky lavender pair of high-cut gutchies. Most days are a waste, but not if you’re wearing scandalous or even semi-scandalous underpants.

OK, so while I was doing the switcheroo in the toily, I figured hell, I should just throw on the skirt and pantyhose at the same time. But then I realized my gold jeweled espadrilles wouldn’t exactly make walking upstairs comfortable, with the pantyhose and all. So I figured I’d throw on the skirt and wait for the pantyhose till I was upstairs and had access to regular high heels that don’t have the toes separated.

So I went to move my jeans to get the skirt I’d had hanging beneath it. What I’d forgotten was that I had $5 in quarters that I’d meant to leave in the car for parking and toll-road emergencies. So I accidentally dumped out the pocket onto the restroom floor, and I heard someone in there, so I shrieked, “Son of a BITCH!” and, in my shirt and underwear and espadrilles, crawled as far as I could under the stall door to retrieve my lost money (screw the clothes — money matters more!).

Perhaps I was hoping I could find some dignity down there too, despite the big purple Tinky Winky ass in the air. 😉

At said point, I figured the hell with it, so I threw on the jeans and stuffed the coins in my pocket. I emerged to see a fellow colleague standing at the sink, laughing her ass off at me. I laughed too — what else can you do on these No Good, Very Bad, Sweet Jesus Why Are You Torturing Me Mornings?

I trudged upstairs with my lavender gutchies peeking out of my low-rider jeans. I even tightened my scarf belt a bit, but alas, no dice. Luckily, I don’t think anyone saw me skulk into my office, trying to yank my jeans up over my britches all the way.

And now I’m fully dressed. Whee. But at least no one witnessed me falling ass over teakettle trying to pull on pantyhose in the dark. …

This entry was posted on Friday, June 2nd, 2006 at 10:41 AM and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.