Perhaps I should shop

I was a bit of a walking dress code violation today in the office.  Even the corporate casual Friday has its standards; my ripped jeans and embarrassingly low cut shirt (it wasn't as revealing last time I wore it) would not be touted as an office worthy wardrobe in most workplaces.  More than once I changed directions to avoid HR and a law enforcing middle manager.  At lunch I casually placed my water bottle and salad in just the right spots.  And I've been a guilty suspect before: two summers ago I wore cutoff shorts (exceptionally forbidden, I know) and an informant was sent to remind me of proper office attire; I suspect it was the same person I avoided today.
This is not quite a feat to brag about, but I've pushed the fashion boundaries for as long as I can remember.  In 8th grade I sewed a "mean people suck" patch onto my backpack.  As a Sophomore at Catholic high school I routinely distracted the sisters (think polyester) and hall monitors from getting glimpses of my bare toes peeking through sandals (nylons were required, ick!).  Weren't they privy to fashion faux pax #23: open toed shoes and sheer tights don't mix?  Even then I questioned whether or not my pleather "hooker" boots were acceptable.  Perhaps my rule breaking ways began as a Kindergartner in Maui, running around in half shirts, shorts and flip flops.  Or maybe I'm waiting for Stacy and Clinton to jump out from behind an office plant and hand over that $5,000 Visa card in exchange for my distressed denim...