Tucked Right Up

In my lunch break just now a woman of around my mother's age rushed up to me in the street a little way from my office, firmly patted me on the shoulder and gasped "your skirt..."

I smiled, graciously, waiting for her to follow it up with "... is fabulous", "...really suits you", you get my drift. It might sound terribly full of myself, but I do get complemented every now and then on my clothes, and sometimes even on my eyelashes (they are quite lustrous), so I was utterly ready to receive a praiseful tidbit.

What I was not prepared for, but what was actually delivered, was "...is tucked up!" in a stage whisper.

The colour drained from my face, I drastically pawed at the offending article, hoiking it out of my undercrackers as fast my desperately grabbing hand could manage, and asked, horrified "was there much showing?"

(Image via someecards)

 

She reassured me that there wasn't (but was she just being kind?) and said that she hoped someone would do the same for her. I could have fallen into her arms with gratitude for her damage limitation. But as she went on her way, happy in her knowledge that a she had done a good turn for a damsel in distress, I found myself frozen to the spot with dispair. There was a line of traffic on the road, did they see? did they all know what had happened? were they staring at me, enjoying my humiliation and waiting to see if I would crack? (oops, no pun intended) was I sure that everything was now covered up? were my cellulitey thighs offending the nation? did I have nice knickers on? would I ever be able to show my face again? had any of my colleagues seen?

I could feel an ugly blush spread over my face. I stopped to look in my bag, trying to make a plan. Run back to work to hide my head in shame or put my head up and go about my lunchtime business as if it was nothing? Flashing my pants, you say? Oh! It was nothing!

Well, I didn't quite manage that, it has to be said, but I did go and get something for lunch, my hand darting back constantly, ensuring that the buttocks were definitely under wraps. Stressful was not the word.

Surely that has to be one of the worst sartorial nightmares. Has anything like that ever happened to you? Let it all out, it's cathartic, I promise, we can share our pain together... Like I did my pants.