If you're like me, the head ache is happening already. Da hubby is in management now, which naturally means he can no longer dress as what he himself calls "a sledgehammer mechanic". That also means that I can no longer dress as a sledgehammer mechanic's wife. Fine. I get that. I'm representing his job whenever I am attending anything work-related with him.
Today is the annual summerfest at his job. This year it is a BBQ party. It's at his workplace, meaning it is partially outdoors - in the parking lot - and partly indoor - in the goods-terminal. Which more or less is a drafty concrete storage hall.
WTF, man! The boots are cheap military look-alikes and butch as hell. The cardigan is about as dressed up as jeans. I am going to wear jeans, a blouse + a nice scarf - for the dressed up nice part - bring the cardigan and a wintercoat in my bag and wear semi-nice black flat shoes. If I stand out, so be it. I will at least still be among the living come tomorrow. It's raining. It's FREEZING cold. I'll be stuck on a wooden bench and be uncomfortable the entire friggin' evening. And I'm not allowed to get drunk. Boo.
Fuck. All. Dress. Codes!