I think I’ve become the fashion contact for one of my co-workers. I should have known that when I wore corduroys last fall and he asked me if it was now the appropriate season for them, that I had a problem on my hands.
Then it happened. “What’s that cologne you’re wearing?”
Picture Jim from The Office and his response to one of Michael’s inappropriate comments. That was me.
“It’s got a nice woodsy scent”. I had nowhere to run, he had blocked my cube. ‘Um, it’s Black Walnut from Banana Republic, K got it for me as a birthday gift.’ I tried to act like I was in the middle of chopping wood, changing spark plugs, cleaning fingernails with a pocketknife (basically anything guy-like).
It was the closest a metro sexual can come to making you feel like you’re getting ready to bend over and pick up the soap in a locker room shower. I fully feared that a reach-around was in my near future from this guy. So I continued my disinterested demeanor until he got bored with me and he walked away.
But it hasn’t let up; “where’d you get that shirt”, “those slacks are nice”, “look at this shirt I got at the outlet mall”, “Dillard’s doesn’t carry Nautica any more, can you believe it? Who carries it now?”
Dude, I don’t know; but I don’t like this job, its 40 hours of my week that I’ll never get back. And now I’m the fashion guru of this place and you want to converse about it. I don’t give a sh*t what I wear as long as it makes K want to treat me like her man-toy. So, yes, she dresses me and I’m cool with that.
And for the record, my shirt today is Mossimo from Target, fitting my form and, hopefully, turning me in to a man-toy for K tonight.