I did my duty in the courtroom. I then took the interior stairwell (trying to lose weight) up to the seventh floor, pushed open the door and rounded the corner to walk down the hallway to file some papers. Standing in front of the elevators, facing me, was a woman I know, a fellow lawyer, in conversation with another fellow lawyer I know who I think is gay but do not know. The faces of the woman and I said hi to each other.
"what'sherstory?" thought bubble. Pop. Walked down the hallway, turned the corner, pushed the security button for the door, heard the click, turned the handle, walked down the short corridor, turned the corner into the office, there she was, the lady who is always there who clicks me in, who is always sitting at that desk when I walk into the office,"Hello," who I always say hello to when I walk into that office, "Hello" who always says hello back to me, who I always walk past to staple my papers together and put them in the tray, "Good bye," who I always say good bye to after being in the office for fifteen seconds, "Good bye," who always says good bye to me after I walk past her after fifteen seconds, who is oblivious that our hello's and goodbyes in fifteen seconds tickle me which is why I do it.
So, I left and retraced my steps. "What's Her Story" was still standing by the elevator in conversation with "Could Be Gay," it had only been two minutes, her back was to me. She was wearing a nice, stylish dress, designer-ish, appropriate length, black patent leather pumps. Very professional. As I got closer, "barelegs.it's55degreesoutside.lol.havetotell", my son, thought bubble.
"what'sherstory?" thought bubble. Pop. Walked down the hallway, turned the corner, pushed the security button for the door, heard the click, turned the handle, walked down the short corridor, turned the corner into the office, there she was, the lady who is always there who clicks me in, who is always sitting at that desk when I walk into the office,"Hello," who I always say hello to when I walk into that office, "Hello" who always says hello back to me, who I always walk past to staple my papers together and put them in the tray, "Good bye," who I always say good bye to after being in the office for fifteen seconds, "Good bye," who always says good bye to me after I walk past her after fifteen seconds, who is oblivious that our hello's and goodbyes in fifteen seconds tickle me which is why I do it.
So, I left and retraced my steps. "What's Her Story" was still standing by the elevator in conversation with "Could Be Gay," it had only been two minutes, her back was to me. She was wearing a nice, stylish dress, designer-ish, appropriate length, black patent leather pumps. Very professional. As I got closer, "barelegs.it's55degreesoutside.lol.havetotell", my son, thought bubble.
My son just started a job as a supervisor and the night before we had talked on the phone for two hours and one minute about his first day and my two zillion days as a supervisor. The vexing issue of inappropriate dress for women in the work place had come up, as he was briefed on it by his supervisor, in his first day on the job. "Watch her," my son's (female) supervisor had briefed him about one of his new supervisees. "She'll test you." I laughed heartily and told him that it drove me nuts when female attorneys--professionals!--went bare legged in the office and especially in court. In court! It looks dirty, it looks slutty, it looks unprofessional. But a male supervisor can't call them on it!
Retracing my steps I walked past "What's Her Story," turned left, pushed the door to the interior stairwell open and began walking up to the ninth floor. "What's her story?; she's attractive enough, dresses well enough, is personable enough, good lawyer enough but there has always been something off about her; is she gay doesn't dress like it," I got to the ninth floor and stopped. "Wait a minute.What was there about that dress? There was something off about that dress; your eyes are bad; no, there was!" I walked back down.
I got on my phone to look absent-minded. She was still there, still in conversation with "Could be Gay" and I walked slowly behind and away from them, unobtrusively circled them looking at my phone, really trying to see that dress from all angles to see if I could see what bothered me about it.
"OhmyGod." The dress had a beige panel, a cut out, in the rear that covered all of her rear and that was semi-sheer. It had to be a designer dress because the semi-sheer panel was so subtle that you did not fully notice it, as I had not, at first. It was so well done that it just put a "Wait a minute" thought in your head, just as it had with me. But it was semi-sheer and there was no vpl. You could see her complete assets. It would have been a perfect dress for a dinner date. In the work place, in the court house!, for a lawyer—What's her story!—by God if it was me I'd have sent her home and told her not to come back unless she was wearing a goddamned burqa. But a guy can't do that! "Oh my God, wait till I tell" my son.