2003-12-18

After a week of coming to work in natty skirts and properly girly shoes, I finally said “fuck it” yesterday morning and threw on a pair of corduroys and a mangy sweater – why look all posh and spruce when there’s no one around to impress? If an employee puts on a button-down dress shirt in the forest, does it make a sound? (Well, in my case, the answer is yes, but it’s not an utterance that can be repeated in polite company.)

So there I was, lazing about my office like a narcoleptic housecat, dressed in my very best “who cares, it’s laundry day” attire, stuffing my face to stave off the boredom – and of course, this is when the new Minister decides to show up and pay an impromptu visit to his new minions. He popped into my cubicle just as I’d jammed a handful of carrots in my mouth. I stood up, shook his hand, and did my best impression of Cookie Monster on a health kick: I got out “Nife ‘oo mee-oo,” and did the appropriate “ha ha I’ve got a piggy face-full of food” hand gesture, and he left, heartily impressed no doubt by my aura of competence and professionalism.