Measuring up

My work has implemented a revised dress code.  My work has decided to be radical and buck the current trend of “dressing down.”  It has decided to put some formality back into work environment.  The stated purpose is to “maintain and perpetuate the reputation of” my work.

That first statement alone was enough to start one of my co-workers and I on a giggle fest.  Oh the irony, considering that we work in a trailer.  Giggles continued as we read further.  The first item under “Attire” states that clothing must be “neat, clean, wrinkle free… and free from offending odors” and the second item states that we should wear “appropriate undergarments.”

Gee, no wonder the administration felt the need to implement a formal policy!  What were they seeing that they needed to spell out “odor free” and “appropriate undergarment”?

The document lists examples of appropriate and in-appropriate dressing.  Appropriate is so obvious I won’t bother to list them.  Under inappropriate, however, some were apparently not obvious to workers, i.e. cut-off shorts, sheer clothing, shirts exposing midriff, and beachwear.

The one restriction that bothers me is the no blue denim rule, not even dark rinse.  There goes my Friday uniform.

Apparently denim in other colors OK.   Can someone explain to me why these look more professional than my dark rinse above???

With the summer season here, the ladies in my office were afraid that there would be a no sandals policy.  Fortunately, we are allowed to wear them as long as they present a professional appearance.  However, no flip-flops or thongs no matter how dressy they are.  So far so good.

Then I read, “no excessively high heeled shoes” and I felt some trepidation.  Then I read “excessive means more than 3 inches” and I felt safe.  I love high heels but mine are all 3 inches and under, right?

Except for the MILF shoes that I just bought.  Remember these?  All 5 inches of them?

Oh well, I’ll just wear them when I go out.  Except, who am I kidding?  I never go out!  If I can’t wear them to work, they’ll just languish in my shoe closet.  In which case, I may as well return them.

Anyway, the rest of my shoes are safe.  Or so I thought until my boss, trying to be funny, whipped out his ruler.  It was on a day when I was wearing these.

4 inches.

Then on another day when I was wearing a pair of wedges.  4.5 inches.  Apparently I like high, high heels!  Clearly, I’m measuring up and up and up, pun totally intended.

No denim?  Fine.  But compromise on my shoe style?  NEVER!  It is the only thing that’s keeping my sanity in check.  That and the cookie dough ice cream that’s currently in my freezer.

I’m tempted to buy the 4 inch wedges in all the colors, hot pink, yellow and white AND wear them with the colored jeans.  Except that I don’t look good in skinny jeans.  And I’m not allowed to buy any more shoes.  And I’m broke.  But, boy if I could, oh boy, watch out world.  I would teeter around blazing in my Technicolored glory.

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