My day started with what would normally be an embarrassing moment. Er, not quite...my day actually started at 3:30 a.m. when chunky baby woke up and insisted that I join him for early morning fun. But, I've already whined about my lack of sleep, so for the sake of not boring you to death we're starting with my embarrassing moment. I was walking in a zombie-like trance, due to the aforementioned nighttime infant antics, down a long corridor in my office building, when a woman, complete stranger, stops me and says, "Your skirt is caught up in the back."
Now, this particular disaster has befallen me many times. One would think after the first time or two a girl might always check her skirt before entering a public area. But, I exclusively wear skirts so it's impossible to maintain that kind of vigilance. Now, you may wonder why I always wear skirts and if when I say "always" do I really mean "most of the time." First of all, the reason I always wear a skirt is because I believe they are more flattering than pants. Pants define all the things on a body that are better left shrouded in mystery. Pants on me look like I'm trying to shoplift several large hams. Second, I mean I always wear skirts. In the dead of winter you will find me in a skirt even if it means icicles will be hanging off my yoo-hoo. On the rare occasions I have gone camping I have done so in a skirt. I back-packed through Europe......in a skirt. Walked all over Disney world...in a skirt. Think of the most absurd place to wear a skirt and I have worn one there.
This ass tragedy has been happening to me all my life. I believe the first time it happened I was in the fifth grade. My day-glo skirt got tucked up in my pantyhose and the rest is history...or asstory. You can see why I might forget to run a hand over my rumpus to make sure it wasn't hanging out every time I walk out of the house of get out of my car.
Despite the frequency of my skirt revealing too much of me (just a few weeks ago the wind caught my skirt as I was standing with my back to a huge window looking into a crowded restaurant--I'm sure at least one patron threw up their enchiladas) I'm always mortified as if it's the first time.
So, this morning when the kind stranger alerted me to the full moon I was shining on all those unfortunate souls walking behind me I was faced with another "Oh, crap" moment. I immediately felt bad for the poor souls, innocently heading into their offices to begin their work day only to be assaulted by my gyrating hammocks. Sigh. For all our sakes I stopped, reached behind me, felt how bare things were, and yanked at my skirt till modesty was restored.
What's interesting isn't really this oft-repeated ass hanging out moment, but the fact that I tugged my skirt down and kept walking as if I just didn't care. And I didn't. Either lack of sleep, the stress of two ankle biters, worries about my marriage or the fact I'm 35 and I just don't give a damn, caused me to keep on moving toward the elevator bank without much thought about my unfortunate "backdraft." Truly bizarre.
I suppose I should be glad that I didn't turn red-faced nor did I curse God in anger and humiliation, but it's so out of character for me that it was kind of disturbing. I turn beet red at the slightest hiccup in life and can be completely derailed for an entire day by such an event as the one I describe here, but today I was strangely unfazed.
But again, I'm too tired or too old to be disturbed for very long so by the time the elevator door opened on the lobby of my office I'd already moved on to the day before me. Besides, there are a host of embarrassing moments lying in wait. I'll probably fall down, poot, or belch in public any second now, so why dwell on a little bare backside? O.K., a lot of bare backside, but you know what I mean.