Oh No, Not Again

Yesterday my bosses told me, in the course of a meeting on related issues, that my workplace dress is still too provocative: outfits too tight, too low-cut, too sexy. I need to be more conservative. We're being scrutinized. I am acting as a representative of our agency... and so on.

The thing is, there's another woman in our office - one of the administrative assistants - who owns the exact same top I was wearing yesterday. She and I have remarked on that, and laughed about it before. She happened to be wearing it yesterday. And it isn't any less tight on her than it is on me, actually. But she's shaped differently than I am.

So do I just need to get a double mastectomy, or what?!

I want to be understanding, because I love this job, and they went on to say how enormously pleased they've been with my work and how happy they are that they hired me. I'm extremely intelligent, they told me: a fast learner, a hard worker, efficient, helpful, utterly reliable, have a wonderful attitude, and take on more of the workload than they had ever hoped for. "Your predecessor was good," said my boss. "You're better."

But let's face it: the tits have got to go.

The girls (my daughters, I mean) and I watched "Enchanted" last night. Have you ever seen it? I absolutely loved it, which I didn't think I would. But it was hilarious, and I got to thinking how nice it would be to have Disney-princess powers of my own: sing a cheerful little working song, and the local wildlife shows up to clean house for you in the most magical and adorable fashion! In Manhattan, the local wildlife consists of pigeons, flies, rats, and cockroaches - but they certainly get the job done. If I had those powers, my house would be cleaned by cockroaches, possums, and the occasional armadillo - and Dave, for once, would earn his keep in cat food. I might go out and buy a new toothbrush, though.

A few months ago my boss asked if I had seen that movie, and remarked that the Disney-princess character reminded her of me. And I can sing, sort of - so it's rather enchanting (so to speak) to fantasize about being able to summon hordes of friendly neighborhood creatures to do my bidding, or kick off a fully-choreographed musical number without notice.

I'm flattered at the comparison. The princess is very pretty. But she's much more flat-chested.

Cleavage

TMI alert!

Like that's going to stop anybody.

I was a bit of an early bloomer. By the time I was ten years old, I was reasonably chesty. By the time I was twelve, I was perhaps unreasonably chesty. Toss in a few breastfed babies and the fact that when I gain weight, that's the first place it goes, and... well, you get the picture.

My sisters both grew up to be A-cups, and they are pissed.

The thing is, female body image being what it is, and general, non-gender-specific human insecurity about the things that make you, um, stand out, I was always pretty self-conscious about this particular portion of my anatomy. It took a long time for me to get comfortable with it. Well - I'm not entirely comfortable, actually. But you know what? Men seem to like them, I've noticed. So I go with it. Tastefully, so to speak.

Today is the first day of my second week on the new job. I'm in a foul mood to begin with. As much as the old job pissed me off at times, I'd been there for two years, and it wasn't the worst job in the world (we all know what that was). I'd made lots of friends, I have some great memories (NO PUNS) and it was a fun, relaxed environment in a lot of ways, as long as you didn't mind the fact that everything you did was completely pointless. So even though this job is (presumably) a better fit for me, a better division to be in, and the work is substantially more rewarding, I'm terribly homesick. Plus I just called an end to - something we won't go into. Plus I am extremely unhappy about Romeo. Plus Bill Gates is running a little behind, so PMS is absolutely kicking my ass right now. Plus I forgot to bring my thermos of coffee this morning. Plus it's cold and wet and gray and depressing out.

And now, for the punchline, my new supervisor calls me into her office this morning to tell me that my cleavage violates office dress policy. How mortifying is that?! I was so upset, I wasn't even tempted to snicker when she used the phrase "nip this in the bud." (She really did!)

She didn't mention it specifically, but she gave me a copy of the written dress code, and apparently toe rings and ankle bracelets and big dangly earrings are out, too. "This sucks!" I wailed to a friend, "they're going to turn me into a dowdy middle-aged woman!"

"Yes," he said.

So I'm going to have to go joylessly shopping for some boring clothes. Could I file for discrimination if I can't wear something that someone else could get away with, just because of the way I'm built?

Goddamn it. This sucks. Anyway, I'm done. At least I should be good on web traffic for a while.

In Summary

Yesterday I got a visit from a Google search on the phrase "stalking coworkers tits." And I'm really quite pleased, because I think if I had to summarize my whole blog in just three words, that would be it.

Every Friday afternoon I summarize my whole week in a couple of hundred words when I do my weekly status report. Then, once a month, I do a monthly status report. The panicmonger is eagerly implementing some new tracking software for us to log all our phone calls, emails, tasks, and other activities. One of the benefits of doing this, she points out, is that we can refer back to our logs and this will make it easier to do our status reports.

Today for the first time I put "Wrote my status report" on my status report. I also put down "Celebrated Talk Like a Pirate Day," which the panicmonger will probably find slightly bewildering. But I spent the entire day Wednesday writing that poem, so I felt it was important to include it.

I bet I write the best status reports of anybody in my department. Everybody else just does all the work. Why am I not in management?

Light 'Em Up

If you don't look at bra catalogues, you should. It will tell you more about what's wrong with Western culture than any other type of literature.

For starters, it will tell you that there are two basic types of bras. One type is for women whose breasts aren't overly large. These bras are very, very cute. Maybe a little... too cute. They come in lots of pretty colors and shapes, and have underwire and satin and lace and padding to enhance your figure and your cleavage, and make you look like you don't have such tiny little unwomanly tits.

Then there's the other type of bra. These are industrial strength bras, and make no attempt at prettiness, aside from the occasional bow at the deepest point of the neckline, which comes across more as a sneer than anything else. They come in white or beige, and have vast stretchy cups with minimizer panels and wide straps. They are designed to cover you up and smoosh you down and make you look like you don't have such nasty big un-girlish tits.

Nursing bras are just beginning to be available in styles that aren't completely utilitarian, and it's about damn time. Even when Anna was born, just over six years ago, it was practically impossible to find something that wasn't of the white, heavy-duty variety. Apparently a few clever marketing types have recently noticed that there's a certain connection between having sex and having babies, and begun selling attractive bras accordingly.

But it's too little (so to speak), too late, and I still have way too much trouble finding cute bras that I don't fall out of if I bend over quickly. I've had it. Let's burn them all!

(Isaac Asimov, that raunchy old darling, once insisted that Women's LIB stood for "Let's Ignite Bras." Why quibble?)

Hello, I'm Up Here

The new guy started at work today: Bill 3.0, I suppose, since he fills the position originally opened when Bill 1.0 left back in November. Now Once Again Without Tits. Whether this constitutes an improvement is probably subjective.

I made a quick little welcome sign for him in PowerPoint before he arrived, and pinned it to his cube wall:

To his credit, not only did he not immediately quit, but he went on a full hour's afternoon break with us. He's off to a promising start.

Then I came home to find that Pam had tagged me as a Rockin' Girl Blogger! It's a wonderful compliment, but carries with it the daunting responsibility of identifying and tagging five more female bloggers (that's the kind with tits) who rock.

I realize I'm not supposed to tag Pam back, which is a pity as she does have a pretty rockin' blog. And I'm not really comfortable tagging people; but I'll go ahead and list a few chick blogs I particularly enjoy:

What the hell: Pam! For anyone who may not know this, Pam and I went to high school together, but didn't really become friends until long after graduation. The same goes for our friend Tammy, who doesn't have a blog but ought to. It's funny the things you can have in common with someone and never realize it; if Pam hadn't come to Houston to do graduate work, we might never have gotten to know each other. I'm very glad we did.

It's always fun reading Lauren's posts on Lost in Texas - and Fletch's, too, even if he doesn't have - you know. Lauren is funny and smart and insightful, not to mention very hip. They're leaving Austin, which is a pity.

Type A Mama is another good read, though with a little one in tow and another on the way, she doesn't post often. She blogs diversely on life in Austin, motherhood, Wal-Mart or world events and her posts are always interesting and informative.

Annie in Austin at The Transplantable Rose writes a beautiful, poetic garden blog with amazing photos. She sings and plays the piano and writes music, too! She's inspired me to try turning my hand to not killing plants. Not killing them, do you hear me?! Someday I'd like to have a garden like hers. Unfortunately, I don't think my honeysuckle will make it to see that day.

Oh, and Digby's got tits, had you heard?

The new guy, who doesn't, tells me he's a PowerPoint whiz. Which sounds like a challenge to me. I need to figure out a way to upload my animated creations to this blog, because then it would totally rock.