Mon, Oct 11, 2010
A few weeks ago I was scheduled to go to a luncheon. That morning as I was getting dressed I slipped on a white bra, then I put on a white tank top to go with the black slacks and grey sweater I had laid out to wear. After scanning how it looked on me, I decided I didn’t like how the tank top looked with my sweater. I quickly shucked the sweater and looked for a different top. I grabbed a black cami with white straps. Perfect. The straps would match my bra straps and the black looked dressier than the white. Grabbing a necklace off my nightstand, I blew myself a kiss* in the mirror and headed into work.
I’d been at work maybe 5 minutes when I realize that in the light of day, my white bra shone through my black cami like an air traffic control spotlight.
It wasn’t this kind of peek-a-boo.
And it wasn’t the black under white.**
And I did have a sweater on, so it was better than this.
This is the closest example.
So, while not explicitly slutty, it was terribly distracting. I was going to dash home, but Sean did some quick arithmetic and suggested I buzz to the mall and buy a black bra.
Quick poll: When dashing to the mall for one specific thing, on a scale of 1 to 10, how slim are your chances of finding that one item?
Don’t answer that, I’ll do it for you. ZERO. You have zero chances of finding what you need. And so it was that I went in with an open mind, seeking anything that would solve that issue of my bra demanding the attention of all who crossed my path. 10 minutes after walking in I walked out with another black tank top. Shoot me, right? The tank covered my straps and was not sheer, so it was a perfect fix. By the time I left it was pouring and I sprinted to the car. My phone rang. I was breathless, I imagined they were calling to see why I wasn’t at the luncheon yet. It was worse than that.
Wrong day. No luncheon.
A few days later I nearly broke my toe.
My questions is, can you tell me again when exactly it is that I will emerge from my awkwardness and barely keeping holding it together and grow into that poised woman who doesn’t grab the wrong bra or sprint into dining room chairs?
It’ll happen soon, right?
*I’m not sure I actually blew myself a kiss, might have been more like a little wink.
**A part of me actually likes the black bra under white tee in certain circumstances.***
***Apparently a part of this child raised in the 70s and 80s still wants to be in a hair band video.
Your turn. Tell me your tale of sitcom woe. Please.