On Friday mornings, I wake up in a good mood. It’s not just that I know the weekend is coming and that I can sleep in the next day, which means I can drink caffeine in the afternoon like one of those carefree types who can handle the raw power of a 12-ounce can of Coke. No, the last day of the week is a good one because that’s the day my co-workers have designated Plaid Friday. And on Plaid Friday, I know exactly what I’m wearing to work.
I want you to know that as I’m writing this post, my orange argyle sock is falling into my Converse, I have a serious case of Helena Bonham Carter hair going on, and a brief foray into the sun (I hate the sun) has left me freckled. I am not feeling too sexy for Milan, New York, Japan, or even a Walmart in Kansas.