Waking Up For Work

Molly’s first clue that this was going to be a bad day was when she looked at her alarm clock. The glowing red numbers said, 7:32.

“Shit,” Molly said jumping out.

She was going to be late for her first day at her great new job. The job started at 8:00. To get to the city, she had to take a one-hour commuter train ride. After she got off her train, she still had a ten minute walk to get to her office building. She should have boarded her train almost an hour ago.

And it took 10 minutes to get to the station.

Knowing she wasn’t going to have time for breakfast, Molly jumped out of bed. One quick shower later, and she was hunting for clothes.

The day before, Molly spent a lazy Sunday not getting much done. Her mistake was in drinking wine with lunch. Wine led to harder drinks, and, before she knew it, the day was gone, frittered away in a haze of ****. Unfortunately, among the things Molly didn’t get done was her laundry. She had gone as far as doing the wash, but not putting it into the dryer. She cursed herself now as she realized that this meant she had almost no clean clothes.

The only clean panties she had were not really suitable for work, but she wasn’t sure she had a choice. They were a pair of Brazil-cut bikini panties held in place with thin straps over her hips. Looking at them, Molly briefly considered going commando, but finally decided that, since she was going to be wearing a skirt and didn’t want to risk showing too much, unsuitable panties were better than none. She put on the panties, then dressed in a mid-thigh-length plaid skirt, an old sheer black demi bra, and a white blouse.

At least she looked good in these clothes, Molly thought as she dressed. She was tall and slender, yet with reasonable curves. Her breasts were pert proud D-cups. Her butt was the result of years of exercise, giving it a nice onion shape.

She wore her long brown hair to her collar, and preferred not to rely on makeup or jewelry. Which was just as well: this morning, she didn’t want to take the time to put either on.

Molly didn’t realize that the seams on her skirt and blouse were held together with the cheapest, poorest quality thread available, and that whoever sewed the skirt did a shoddy job to begin with, even before the weak thread entered into it. Her blouse wasn’t much better, and might even, in terms of quality, been made by the same disinterested seamstress in some third-world country.

After setting a personal record for getting dressed, Molly put on a pair of sandals, grabbed her purse, and was out her front door at 7:51, 19 minutes after getting out of bed.