The Wit of the Staircase
16 June 2009 at 2:42 pm
I'm at work at a bar on Friday night. I'm busy, I'm exhausted, and I'm dealing with blacked-out drunks, bitchy coworkers, the bar boss' birthday, the regulars, the underagers, everything, everything that goes into supporting my lifestyle the way I see fit.
Later that night, after criticizing a few of my customers as to their career ambitions, some chick says, completely unsolicited: "You know, if I were you -- how can I put this delicately? I might reconsider my wardrobe choices."
If I told you that I was wearing a tank top and jeans, I wouldn't be lying. If I told you that I was wearing a v-neck camisole and tight black jeans, I'd be telling more of the truth. If I told you that I was directing attention towards my cleavage, I'd be downright honest.
I can't even dignify this bitch with a response, so I smile hugely and walk away and spend the next week working on my espirit d'escalier.
[I neglect to tell her about the study I did last year about how much more money I make when I wear the pushup bra I'm not wearing right then, which is 30% and I have the excel charts to prove it.]
I'd reconsider my wardrobe choices if I changed my style to make more money, but I wear the same outfits to work at this job that I wear to go work my other jobs, to make a deposit at the bank, to fly to Spain, to bake a pie.
So, little lady, I have considered my wardrobe choices, and I am just fine with them. THANKS.
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