Fug

So, for the most part, I've gotten used to everyone at my workplace just automatically assuming I'm their collective daughter. For the most part, I've embraced that, and used it to my advantage. Never have I recieved so much free food.

Until today.

Now, I love my job, and I've made a pretty solid concerted effort to dress the part of the poised mature office worker. I've consumed more makeup these past six months than I have in, well, ever. I dress much nicer, and much more conservatively, than I would otherwise. I am on time. I am cheerful. I am engaged. I am caffeinated. I am enthusiastic.

Friday's are my one and only day where I don't have to get up at 5:15 am, in order to be at the Graduate School by 7am. Fridays, are known to some, as casual Friday. So today I slept in 'till a most luxurious 8 AM, had a nice slow shower, nice slow breakfast. Hey, even caught a ride to school with Cat across the hall. I am dressed well, however, in jeans and a polo, and did not stop for coffee at the Chevron on the corner, as is now my habit. There is not a smidge of makeup on my face. Not even chapstick.

Enter caffeine headache of doom.

I was on my way to my bosses boss to get some signitures, earlier today. We have an atleast congenial relationship, and she seems to take a pretty solid interest in my affairs. She also has a 20 year old daughter, as does my boss. See above. So I get my signitures, and turn to leave, she grabs me by the shoulders and says:

"You know, you need to take care of yourself. We love you, and you do great work for us, and we love you, and by all means work work work make lots of money, but you know, if you need time off or something..."

Thanks, Mary. Thanks a big one.