As some of you may know, I have had a love-hate relationship with clothing all my life. Due to genetics, I have always had to try on almost every piece of clothing. When I was younger, I was tall and skinny. Once puberty hit, I was tall and skinny and, well, stacked. One wannabe “suitor” once referred to me as “all leg and curve.” It got him nowhere (he had the I.Q. of a turnip) but I always thought it was a pretty accurate statement.
Because of this, I have never really enjoyed cloths shopping, unless the mood strikes, which isn’t all that often. Finding things that fit “properly” was always hard, and many times my mother (bless her heart) would take time to alter things so they actually fit me. Eventually I learned how to do this (I hate sewing – lol). When I moved out on my own, and time was tight, I learned the value of tape, staples, and tying bits of elastic together for a quick fix in a pinch. (Yeah Mom, I know it makes you proud!) That isn’t to say I didn’t have the brains to know that there are some things that you absolutely must repair/alter/fit.
As I got older, gravity and Mother Nature caught up with me. Although I still had to do some altering here and there, clothing began to fit better. I found myself looking for better quality, more “sturdy” pieces that would allow me to contain my various wayward body parts. I learned the value of spending more money on certain articles of clothing, particularly undergarments (again, thanks Mom!). I also learned to take good care of such things in the vain attempt to make them last.
Lately it seems that more and more I find that my clothing is retaliating. I have no idea why, or when it started to happen. All I can say is that it always happens at the most incontinent time. Take for instance the time I was working at the bookstore. I was alone, and it was very busy. I happened to be wearing a skirt, and being raise “right” I had on a half slip. I as running in and out from behind the sales counter. What I failed to realize, is that the elastic was shot. This dawned on me when I was ringing up one person. One minute everything was fine, the next, my slip was in a puddle at my feet. Being resourceful, I carefully stepped out of the slip, kicked it to the side and went on my merry way.
Then there was the time I was shelving books. This required a lot of bending for lower shelves, and reaching up for higher ones. Somewhere along the line, I became aware that something just didn’t feel right. Couldn’t quite put my finger on what was off. Shoes matched, nothing unzipped or unbuttoned, no one had caught me farting in the aisles, and no unsightly buggers. Then I looked down and realized, to my horror, my chest had some kind of weirdly misshapen look to it, like someone had scrambled my molecules and not put them back in the correct order. After escaping to the ladies room, I discovered that the lace in the front of my bra had given out; causing my chest to "smush" about any way it wanted. No telling how long it had been that way.
Of course there are other incidents, too many to really go into, but you get the idea.
So what brought this revelation about today, you ask.
Well, I currently work at a job where I get to sit. It’s a nice job. I have my own space; I get to personalize it to make it comfortable. I have pictures of the hubby, pets, family and friends. I have “toys” with which to amuse myself. I like it. This is all acceptable because the place I work at realizes that we spend the majority of our time on the phones, sometimes for long periods of time, and if our space is comfortable and “fun” for us, the happier we will be. (Amusing myself has never been a problem for me.)
Today was a rather hectic day. We are being bombarded with install calls. There aren’t many of us on this team, so we don’t get a lot of down time at the moment. It’s one call right after another. Because of this I got a late lunch. So at approximately 3:45, I discovered that I had apparently ripped out the seams in the crotch of my pants.
Yep. That’s right. Of course I am thinking “Wonder how long they have been like that” followed by “How come I didn’t realize that before?” Then I realized I just didn’t really care. If someone wanted to see my blue panties, more power to them.
Of course I told the people I work with. It had been a hectic day and I figured they needed the laugh as much as I did. And they did.
See what I mean by amusing myself?
