A Lady: So I was standing in the hall talking to my boss and one of the (sweet, foreign, older, non-creepy) management dudes walked by, turned around, walked back, and said: “You look like a movie star. Every day!” and my boss was all, “I KNOW, RIGHT?” Sparkly purple jumpsuit (it has the word “suit” in it, ergo it’s totally work appropriate) win!
D: If you are wearing that lurex jumpsuit to work...
A Lady: WITH A CARDIGAN
D: Giiiiiiiiiiiiirl. I can't even. Also, that’s faulty logic: by this token, a swimsuit would be work-appropriate.
A Lady: Erm…I have worn a swimsuit to work before. WITH A SKIRT. AS A BODYSUIT.
D: Uh. Um. I.... I can't. YOU WORK AT [CONSERVATIVE CORPORATE OFFICE REDACTED].
A Lady: I’m a rebel. A rebel with a sartorial cause. Silent and mysterious at my desk.
D: You are wearing sparkly lurex. Ain't nothing silent about that.
A Lady: I have brainwashed everyone. Chicago's next.
D: Goddammit. This is why I live in the Midwest: to avoid mobs of Jumpsuit People.
A Lady: I'm like the Jumpsuit Zombie.
D: Instead of saying BRAAAAAAINS you mutter ONESIIIIIIIE threateningly. How do you kill a jumpsuit zombie? Do you repel them by creating a self-defense line out of, like, sensible shoes? Birkenstocks?
A Lady: You can't kill a jumpsuit zombie. It's what makes us terrifying and our reign inevitable.
D: I still cannot fathom a way in which I could look good in a jumpsuit. Doesn't exist.
A Lady: See? It's working. Now it's no longer "it's gross," but rather "I wouldn't look good in one." Baby steps. Baby zombies.
D: I’m certain you look good in it. I do not doubt that. But I think that it sends a dangerous message to the rest of America that they, too, should wear a jumpsuit.
A Lady: SPARKLES!
D: Ok, I am all for SPARKLES.
A Lady: Shiny shiny. I am way more happy with this than anticipated.
D: Ha, you know how to make my brain go "shiny ooh.”
A Lady: I'm a master manipulator
D: Bastard. C'mon, be nice. I did just get HIT BY A CAR.
A Lady: Fine, you get a pass on this, but ONLY because a truck hit you and ran over your bike.
D: So every time I want to win an argument with you I need to have a near-death experience?
A Lady: Yup. This totally works for me.
D: I may try to avoid being shot at just for the sake of argument-winning, though. But maybe if we start to discuss other topics of contention I would be amenable to a slight stabbing. Like, just one clean wound. (So I'm headed to the po-po in a few to file my police report for the accident, and though I could wear the jeans hanging from my doorknob, oh no. I'mma wear cutoffs just so the full array of bruises is on display for sympathy purposes.)
A Lady: (Strategic Dressing: not just for dates.)
