This afternoon I'm setting up a friend's wedding reception, which I am super excited about. I spent many years working in flower shops and I miss it, especially this time of year. I was thinking about the good old days in the flower shop, and that reminded me of a story. If you can't tell the internet at large the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you, who can you tell?
It was pouring out. I was wearing a white dress shirt, a houndstooth skirt I had gotten at a consignment store, and black patent leather flats, as we were expected to dress up a bit on Saturdays when we serviced weddings.
I was in college and did my laundry at my moms' and I was running a little low on clean clothes that Saturday, so i skipped underwear and wore panty hose with the built in panty. Men, this may sound strange but I assure you women do it all the time. I think.
On the way into to reception site I stepped into a ginormous puddle and shredded my hose and destroyed my shoes. I couldn't do anything about the shoes, but I got back into the car and removed the pantyhose so I would look more presentable. It was summer so it didn't seem that odd.
Normally setting up a reception is a festive occasion. There are caterers there setting tables, a DJ assembling the dance floor, bakers delivering the cake, and an assortment of other people putting out chairs etc. This was a small reception, so I was there on my own putting out the centerpieces and votive candles. Usually there was a lot of friendly banter between all the people, but not today.
Today the staff was unusually cold and distant. None of the women returned my smiles or said hello. I had no idea what was up, but I chalked it up to it being a strange hotel that we didn't normally service and perhaps they preferred a different florist.
It was my last job of the day, so after I finished up I went directly home instead of returning to the shop. After I walked in the door, I tossed out my completely ruined pumps, and stripped off my still-damp clothes. It was really pouring. When I went to take my skirt off, though, I finally understood what no one had told me all day:
I had split my skirt up the back, nearly to the waist. And I wasn't wearing underwear. I had spent the better part of the afternoon bending over tables and showing my nether-region to the 30 or so people setting the tables, etc. I don't mean a quick bend over, either. I had placed a round mirror carefully in the center of each table along with three candles and a centerpiece, so I was bent in half for a significant part of the day, with my skirt split.
I had felt like it was a little breezy, but had never stopped to check. All I could think was gratitude that I was unlikely to see any of those people again, and if I did, I doubted they'd remember my face. My ladyparts, however, might be burned on their retinas forever.
I learned my lesson. Although I am wearing a skirt for the set-up today, I am wearing a good quality pair of britches underneath, just in case.