Stinks Like Team Spirit

Look, I love the Longhorns as much, if not more, than the next gal. I bleed burnt orange, and I truly revel in the knowledge that the Eyes of Texas are forever upon me. Really, I do. HOWEVER, I refuse to sell out my beloved alma mater (or my soul) every Friday during football season for “Jeans and Jersey Day” at The Job. Yeah. And are we going to have a GD pep rally in the quad, too?

First of all, somehow I think the team would be less-than-inspired by the sight of you in your burnt orange tanktop with the Longhorn head Bedazzled across your sagging, 60-year-old boobs, even if you pair it with your burnt orange spray tan and jaunty, bootleg baseball cap. Yes, a CAP. With a TANKTOP. At an allegedly professional place of BUSINESS. That TAXPAYERS are paying for.

Second, I realize that the thoughtful creators of Jeans and Jersey Day took great care to not limit the acceptable attire to just Longhorn gear, which allows my thriftier, fiercely independent co-workers to snatch up whatever NFL knock-offs happen to be on sale at Walmart that week. BUT wearing your torn-up “I’m a Buckin’ Broncos Mom” or “My Kid plays for the Screamin' Meamies Tetherball Team” t-shirt is really pushing it. Especially when your “kid” is now old enough to be serving in the military.

Finally, and probably – no, definitely – the most important point, how exactly is Jeans and Jersey Day different than any other GD day for you people? The only distinction I can see is that you actually dress UP for Jeans and Jersey Day, as a welcome break from those constricting sweat pants and glorified yard clothes you wear every other GD day.

Hear me now – I am no fashionista. I could give a flying fig, to a point, about other people’s fashion choices. I think Casual Fridays are a great idea, and I’m thrilled beyond measure that I can have a job in The Law and not have to wear pantyhose everyday. But the range of what constitutes acceptable and unacceptable work attire is far and wide over at The Job, and I’m telling y’all, having to witness the constant parade of “Business Slothful” roaming the halls, as a matter of daily course, just may be the end of me.

Hook ‘em, indeed.