I definitely have better legs than him...

My friend Jessica has filed a formal complaint regarding my infrequent blogging. During conversation, she demanded reasons as to why I hadn't been posting.

"Nothing's really happened."

"I'm sure SOMETHING happened this week that you haven't written about."

::pause:: "Maybe. Sean wore a skirt to work on Monday."

"A skirt???"

"Yeah, it looked like an athletic skirt. It was black, and reminded me of tear-away pants."

"No, he didn't."

"He sure did."

"All I can think of is Fat Bastard in a kilt. I feel sick."

"That's pretty much what he looked like."

Yes folks, I'd hate to ruin a perfectly good Friday, but Sean wore a skirt to work on Monday. I tried to find a picture to illustrate what, exactly, this thing is but 1) I don't know what the hell it is and 2) when I typed in "athletic kilt" and "sports skirt for men" Google returned no hits and a smartass "surely, you're kidding me" message. Think of the fabric tear-away pants are made out of, except cruelly forced into skirt form. This article was pleatless and solid navy blue rather than plaid. It is probably sold exclusively in sizes XXXL and Good Lord. He sauntered into the office, paused briefly by Beth and mentioned something to her about needing to get as much use out of his summer attire as possible since the weather is changing, and walked over to his desk. She mumbled something in response, but didn't take a good look at him until he walked away. I passed her desk on my way out for a coffee.

"A!" she whispered forcefully. "What the hell IS that thing???"

Nothing surprises me anymore--the skirt had made several appearances in the office, and while it's still an eyesore, it's a less shocking one. As long as the wind doesn't pick up, it's all good. Those 3 monitors might be ruining my eyesight, but even the severest degree of blindness won't spare me from any emotional scars resulting from Sean's "Seven Year Itch" interpretation.

"It's his skirt. You haven't seen it before?"

"His, his WHAT? What did you say?" she stammered, completely horrified.

"His skirt," I replied as I headed toward the door. I heard her mutter, "It's going to be a long fucking Monday," as I exited.

And it was. This isn't to say, however, that there weren't any highlights. The most entertaining moment of the week (unless something phenomenal happens today) occurred when the skirted Sean realized that he had a potential investor meeting and had to make an emergency stop home to grab some pants. Whoops.

I wonder if I'll miss this kind of stuff when I leave.

P.S. The trees en route to work are now wearing polka-dotted beanies. Yes, I doublechecked on the way home to make sure I wasn't mistaken in my morning haze. I feel bad for those evergreens in the same way I feel bad for dogs whose owners insist on parading them around in booties and sweaters. It's hard to be a noble fir when a propeller is whizzing in the breeze.