Earplugs anyone?

The neighbor's are out of town, and their sons have people over. Now, mind you, this is coming from soccer mom me. I wish the would shut up already!! They are out playing basketball and screaming and yelling. I feel like calling the po-lice.

Sigh. I guess I'm cranky?

I thought about calling Denise today. Then I didn't. I don't know if I'm lonely and have no friends or actually miss her. Prolly the first.

WRONG!
A Short Story.
(Par-done le French-e.)

So ThirdFed came up with all these new ideas. One was "summer casual clothing days." All of my previous clothes have been stricken from the "casual list" of items. We are now supposed to wear khakis and capris. (None of which I really own. The pairs I do have don't fit.) Sigh. So, Mum and I drudge up to the mall and go shopping. I did find a sale at Payless and bought some sandals. Since a new rule is "hosiery is not required but recommended." I figure if the guy's don't have to wear ties, fuck the nylons.

WRONG.

Friday I come strolling in with my new nylon free feet, clad with instead, cute white sandals. They have a skinny heel, but have the "thingie between the toes," similar to flip flops... but they aren't. They're sandals in my book. Anyway, I get pounced on by everyone. Supposedly "summer casual" days do not start until the coming Monday. How was I supposed to know? They tell me to sit in my seat and pray our manager Lisa doesn't notice my feet.

WRONG AGAIN.

Not only do I have to walk right by Lisa, (tittering because I'm not used to the heels,) but some woman named Shelly decided to audit me (count my money and make sure it balances.) So Shelly follows me everywhere I go (and has to notice the shoes.) Later in the day, after Shelly leaves (along with Lisa's manager Katie, a district manager,) I begin breathing. No one said anything.

Wait.

WRONG.

Lisa comes over later that day and announces "to the group," that summer casual days do not start today, they start Monday, so we should have nylons or socks on our feet, and we should NOT be wearing any type of shoe with a "thingie between the toe." She glared at me during that little speech. Nice of her not to tack my name onto the end of it... but everyone saw the glare anyway. So, I got a glare. Wheew.

Yeah, right.

WRONG.

She then points to the sweater hanging on the back of my chair. The blue knit one I bought at Abercrombie on sale this past spring. With the brown buttons? Anyways, she also says that anything with a hood is also not permissible. It doesn't matter if it is silk with a fucking hood. If it has a hood, it's banned.

So not only are my cool new sandals forboden, my only source of warmth in the icebox I call work has been thrown out the window.

Damn.

Then, to make my day worse, they tell me the woman, Shelly, who audited me? Yeah, she's Lisa's manager Katie's manager. Fucking figures. If she noticed my shoes and cared more, I could have been canned on the spot.

I think that's the last time I'm going to be a rebel. Fuck, I'll wear nylons to bed if I have to now. Stupid rules.



The End.