My hair is still growing.
It was short like Halle Berry’s, then short like… um… Charlize Theron’s when hers was short, and now I’m going through all the phases of Janet on Three’s Company, like I already told y’all.
The only thing I wanted to add to that is that I am now the illegitimate child of Dorothy Hamill and Shaun Cassidy.
But I’m committed to letting my hair grow. Already the lushness of it makes me proud and gives me something to twirl with my fingers while talking on the phone at work. Too bad my thick, shiny hair can only arrange itself into the dork-do’s of the ’70s.
speaking of (petty/judgmental)
Either I get more prudish with old age or I’m secretly a really bitchy old lady who never gets any, because, when pressed, I can make the most conservative judgments in the world on women’s grooming in the workplace.
For instance:
- I believe that knee-high boots with flat heels are the raciest footwear a woman can wear and still be “business casual.” If you come to work in knee-high boots with heels, you’re saying, “I hope that my male coworkers will fantasize about me whipping them.”
- Youth is no excuse. Women who wear tight pants or trendy club tops to work are saying, “Please fire me now.”
- Long hair is beautiful but, like the Victorians, I prefer to see it restrained during the day. Women who wear their hair flowing down to their asses at the office are saying to me, “I’ll quit this job as soon as I use it to find a man who will pay my rent.”
Isn’t that awful? Am I a woman hater?
Men don’t matter. They all look the same in Corporate America – boring.
Maybe it’s because my workplaces are so stultifyingly asexual that any hint of overt sexiness shocks me. Maybe it’s because I’m jealous of people prettier than me. But I don’t think so. I think women should be able to wear anything in the world that they want, and I think all young women are beautiful and should get to just be beautiful without being hassled for it. But, like I said – it annoys me when women try to attract the opposite sex at the office.
Try doing some actual work, y’all. Or do what the men do – just wave your money around and then scoop up any sexy young gold-digger that sniffs it out.
Or… hurry up and hunt your husbands, and then get out of my way.
