* 5 years ago … It happened again. Different skirt, different lot. Meh!
As I was walking from my office to my car, my skirt hit the concrete. I remained upright, standing there in front of God and everybody, in my top and underwear. I do not have a tan – on purpose, but I sure could have used one at that moment. My legs look like abnormally long pieces of packaged chicken. Read: white. Did have on nice underwear, but it just doesn’t compensate for the lack of skin color – in daylight. Couldn’t grab the demon garment because I was holding boards. The wooden kind. Ignored the horrified screaming and running of garage mates and finally managed to pull that sucker up under my arms. And took my boards to the post office to mail them.
Who mails boards? As in not- too- long- but- sorta- heavy boards? Interior designers, that’s who. I’m not a designer, I am the office ODDJOB. Without the razor-brimmed hat. My areas of expertise are research (“Here’s a picture of a painting. We need to know who the artist is. There is no information, no caption, no nothing, don’t even know when or where the picture of painting came from. Go!” I found artist and a silkscreen of painting to purchase in 30 minutes), food choices (“Everyone is dieting but I still think we should get a cake, should we get a cake?” Get the cake. Am genius), and mailing boards.
Had to stick my stomach out to keep skirt on in post office. Happy foreign man says, “You want to mail boards?”. I said indeed I did and the cost must be under $100. He started laughing and speaking to himself in his native tongue. Am thinking that means cost will be well over the budget. Skirting the details,I return to office with humble, sad face. Walked into designers bull pen, looking for my boss to tell her about expense. That damn skirt went south again. My colleagues, all women, were nonplussed; they are used to my wardrobe malfunctions. Paper-clipped skirt top to underwear and called it a day.
Did I mention I live in the city located just on the outskirts of Hell? Where it is 81-degrees at 7 a.m.? This morsel of info is only necessary because sweats are not clothing here, sweats are a perpetual state of the body. Every body. So skirt slippage was heat-related. As evening approaches, it is a brisk 80-degrees inside my house; the a/c is working its ass(?) off, making the same sounds that pierce the air when empty cans are put in dryer and dryer is turned on high. War zone ambience. Trying to relax and cool down.
Turn on the computer and get some news. Apparently bird doo facials are all the rage in NYC; you, too, can have one for $180. So “Emperor’s New Clothes”, I can’t even wrap this. My mind is grinding, so I’ll throw out an offer for bird poop facial aficionados …. you are most welcome to sit on my patio – all day long – for $10; you will be delighted by all the bird bombs that cover your entire self. There is only one catch … bring earplugs… the a/c sound might disturb your bliss. Come early and stay late.
Don’t even think I”m complaining, I’m not. Based on what I read, hear, and see, I am beyond lucky. If anyone needs a skirt fail, a scary loud a/c, a poop facial provided by numerous regional birds, and/or boards mailings, you know where to look.
*P.S. Always wear nice underwear, even if you aren’t riding in the car … you never know ….. just saying.
Later. If I don’t melt…