I Promise I Am Fully Dressed as I Am Typing This

"Every time a woman leaves off something she looks better, but every time a man leaves off something he looks worse." ~Will Rogers

I have clothing issues . . . No, I am not a stripper or anything like that. I just can't always remember to put them on. And when I do get them on, it's not always . . . in the right way, so to speak. For your reading pleasure I offer three "clothing mishaps" that may, or may not, have actually happened. You have to decide!

Mishap #1: First a bit of backstory. In my younger years I toured with a itinerant repertory theatre company. We performed schools, prisons, nursing homes, churches, theatres . . . wherever there were people! SO. On to the mishap! I and my team were performing on a stage for a church dinner theater. It was an older, affluent group. They were at tables and we were up on the stage. During the play, I had to stand up from a squatting position. (Oh! One more piece of backstory. This was in the early 80s when prairie skirts that hung below the knees several inches were in style. IT WAS THE 80s!) So, there I was squatting with my skirt fanned out around my feet in a beautiful way. Then there I was standing . . . with my skirt beautifully fanned out around my feet--still. I am standing in my blouse, which is tucked into my hose. Fortunately, I DO have panties on. But no slip, because I COULD NOT FIND IT EARLIER!
I looked down, gasped, and ran off stage. Curtain.

Mishap #2: My generous x-mother-in-law once took me clothes shopping in some up-scale boutiques in New England. She is what I would call a "Clothes-Tryer-Onner." I am a "Take-It-Home-and-Try-It-On-and-Return-It-If-It-Doesn't-Work-Outer." To put it more succinctly, I hate trying clothes on in the store. But I wasn't wielding the credit card, so I became a Clothes-Tryer-Onner! So I am in the little dressing room and x-M-i-L is handing things in, taking things back, handing other things in, making me twirl and walk, handing things in, taking things back . . . Rinse, repeat!

This went on for quite a while. I experienced book and chocolate withdrawal. I longed for a rest. I wondered how many calories I had burned. But I was going to walk out with FREE CLOTHES. That I had not paid for. That would be new to everyone in my life. They would be very happy as the blue and purple princess-waisted dress was getting a little FRAYED (read: raggedy).

After a twirl, I went back in the dressing room. x-M-i-L handed in a skirt. I put it on, made a grand entrance, did a beautiful twirl and then posed for her. I noticed her eyes were like saucers. Eyes that were seeing a car accident or perfectly good chocolate being thrown away! She stuttered and pointed at me. I looked down and noticed that I had put the skirt on, but NO BLOUSE. NO BLOUSE WAS ON MY BREASTS--JUST A DEMI-UNDERWIRE-FULL-FIGURE-HOLDING BRA!

I looked to my left to see the male shop owner holding a phone to his ear but speechlessly looking at me. His jaw? It was one inch of the ground. Maybe only one-half inch. I've never been good with measurements. Or clothes.

Mishap #3: Backstory: I like to sleep until the last possible moment. I know--to the SECOND--how long it takes me to get ready (although having a baby has shot that to h-e-double-toothpicks, but that's another set of stories). At the time of this little mishap, I was living four-and-a-half blocks from my place of work. So I could sleep EVEN LONGER. YIPPEEEEEEEEE!

This particular morning, I had hit the snooze alarm one or five times. So, clearly my routine was going to have to be . . . CONDENSED.

But I was used to this! So I got myself into hyperspeed and in no time at all, I was out the door and on my way! It was a nice day. A crisp New England morning, not too cold. But still, I felt a little chilled in my . . . nether regions, my special parts, my bottom half. It was breezy. So I looked down and noticed I HAD NO SKIRT ON! Panties: check. Hose: check. Skirt: AWOL!

I was halfway to work. So I did what any self-respecting half-clothed professional would do: I turned around and headed back to my apartment. To find a skirt. And then to actually PUT IT ON!

"And as the last piece of clothing/Fell to the floor/The police were banging on the door"

~Chris DeBurgh, "Patricia the Stripper"

So there are my clothing stories. A few. I don't want to give them all up at once. And it's NOT because I STILL HAVE ISSUES, EITHER!

So how much do strippers make these days, anyway?!??