juicyK

Laundry day for me comes around when my supply of t-shirts, soccer shorts, and most comfortable undies are dwindling down to the point of not having anything to wear.  I reached that point a couple days ago.  Yes, I am wearing clean, though not my favorite, underwear at the moment.  It’s also the time when my co-workers get to see me wear something other than the t-shirt and jeans on most days, or a “nice” t-shirt and slacks when I want to feel “dressy”, as I delve into the dark recesses of many closet to find my more professional items.  Items that require ironing, dry cleaning, or any extra maintenance beyond washing and drying are left to wear only as a last resort.  Another key factor may be to avoid being charged with public indecency.  Jail just isn’t my bag.

Since I ran out of t-shirts today, I was forced into wearing a pencil skirt with a cardigan and tank-top for the extent of my present workday.  It sucked.  For anyone else this would probably not be a problem but for me it was.  I am a wiggler, a really wiggly one.  I felt like I should have come with a warning label after having to cram into some pretty small lecture halls during college:  “She moves.  She is never comfortable.  Prepare to be accidentally kicked, bumped, and nudged.  Oops, sorry.”  The worst was when some guy, large or small, felt he needed to spread his legs or elbow into my area.  All I could think of was that neither he, nor his “boys”, needed so much room that it had to cause an invasion of my space.  I’m just saying that little people need area to stretch out, too.  When I am allowed space to wiggle, my seating style is more closely related to something seen in yoga or pilates classes, definitely not the norm.  Unfortunately for today, I had to work and sit like a lady instead of a yogi.

PCR plates were spread over the lab bench waiting to be purified as I shifted and hiked my skirt.  After several failed attempts at an ergonomic position, I exclaimed, “…SO UNcomfortable!”

The Malaysian was working next to me.  He looks over and asks, “What did you say…’son of an eyeball’?”

“What are you talking about, weirdo?  I was saying how uncomfortable my skirt is.  I said it’s SO uncomfortable.”

“Ahahaha.  Oh, I thought you were cussing, like ‘ sonofa…you know’ but you changed the last word to eyeball.”

“Uh, no.”

“Ahahha.  I guess I really do need to go to the ENT.”  This is something I have been telling him for the past few weeks after his general physician told him to see a specialist about his recurrent colds and nosebleeds.  The colds obviously, and occasionally annoyingly, affect his hearing.  I even gave him a referral to an Ear, Nose, Throat (ENT) specialist, but has he used it?  Nope, of course not.

“Uh, yeah.  Ya do need to, but what do I know.”

Perhaps not much, but I do know a couple things:  I will avoid wearing that sonofaneyeball skirt anytime in the near future, because sitting like a lady is overrated and pencil skirts were not made for gomukhsanam (the yoga postion that most closely resembles how I prefer to sit).