Well, it’s Casual Friday again. The day when I can shuffle out of the shackles of my slacks (“Slackles”, if you will) and revel in the freedom of my jeans, tee shirt, and generic sneakers. As much as I love this day, it also causes me to heave a dramatic sigh. Of course, lots of things cause me to heave a dramatic sigh–not winning the 50-50 raffle, someone taking the parking spot I consider “mine”, the soft drink machine being out of Coke Zero and having to settle for Diet Coke–but this is a special kind of sigh. For while on this one day I can cast off my oppressive business casual garb, I know Monday will bring slacks and blouses and trouser socks. I long for more autonomy in my apparel, but alas (insert dramatic sigh) it is not meant to be. However, I do try to be subversive about how I present myself. I normally don’t wear makeup to work, and I don’t wear a lot of jewelry. I do wear lots of black–head to toe, all black– and I usually have my coppery hair pulled into a tight bun.  I’m going for the severe schoolmarm look. But on Casual Friday, whoo boy. Even though I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt, I try to look fly as hell. Cute, butt-hugging jeans, charming shirt, coordinating jewelry, a full face of makeup and a stylin’ coif. My goal is to look as miserable and wretched as possible during the rest of the week so that on Friday, those in authority will notice the striking difference in my appearance and be dazzled by the change. So much dazzled that they abolish the business casual dress code and let us wear jeans every day again.

“Wow, look at Finch today! She’s so vibrant! Whatever could be the cause of this dramatic change? Oh, it must be the joy emanating from her as she basks in the freedom to wear comfortable clothes! Now we see the errors of our ways!” (Yes, they will exclaim everything.)

I think my plan would work too, if it weren’t for Dave. He sits in the same cubicle as I do. Frickin’ Dave. He wears a suit on Fridays. He wears a suit every day. And a tie. The jerk. I saw him wearing cufflinks today. We work in a call center. None of our management wears suits. The district manger does not wear a suit. One time, the CEO of our company came for a visit. He was not wearing a suit. But guess who was? That’s right– Frickin’ Dave. Frickin’ Dave’s hair always looks perfect. Frickin’ Dave always has a flawless tan. Frickin’ Dave smells like expensive cologne. One day, I think I’ll have to frickin’ cut Frickin’ Dave and then we’ll see how he feels about being a suck up, smug, well-dressed weasel.  Your suits don’t look so fancy now, do they Dave, encrusted as they are with your own blood. Yes. Weep, Dave, for I have struck you and brought you low. You will wear jeans on Fridays. You will wear polo shirts and khakis and loafers  the rest of the week. I swear, if I see you wear another tie to work Dave, I will yank said tie from your throat and flog you with it. Tie floggings are not so much about inflicting pain as they are about causing humiliation. And you don’t even want to know what I’ma do if I see you wearing cufflinks again. Muck up my Casual Friday, will you? I think not. Shoo…