fuck this job.com

The dress code in my office is pretty lax. The assistants and admin people are allowed to wear jeans as long as they look decently professional.
And then there's Wifey. She has shown off a belt costing more than a few of my month's pay, because it’s made by whatever designer. Her jewelry weighs down her skeletal body. Earrings pull down her poor earlobes in what should be a form of medieval torture. Misplaced necklaces leave implants. Waiting for her to show up is like walking into a modern day freak show.
There is nothing better than her white Capri pants. Nothing. Imagine, if you will, and elderly woman (late 60's) who is a walking, cosmetically enhanced, skeleton. The Capri pants land a few inches below her knee, showing a fair amount of shin. If this isn’t alluring enough, there’s the actual pants themselves. The material is a thin, white material, stretched over her being. However, you don'’t realize they are white until you look at the hem, where the material is actually white. That is when it dawns on you —they're see through. You are looking through the pants of a senior citizen. Your stomach boils, but that isn’t the end of the pain. For some reason, Wifey feels the need to bend over, constantly, ONLY when wearing these pants. You take note of the VPL (Visible Panty Line, for those of you not in the know). You want to be sick, but you realize it's probably for the best because seeing a thong in this scenario would be far more traumatizing.
And there’s her butt, squished awkwardly into these pants crafted by Satan himself. There is constant wedgie, but not from her panties. Oh no. Her wedgie is from nothing more than her pants being too tight in the rear.
She wears these at least once a week. It is the only thing known to man that is more effective than whiskey dick. She is wearing the pants now, and my only thought is she would be the PERFECT poster woman for abstinence.