Getting “Busted” at Work

There is a shop in the city in which I work that specializes in women’s lingerie, specifically the foundational type. I am a customer of this establishment, where one can be fitted by experts. The products are not inexpensive, so once a year or so I go in and purchase a couple of basic colors in my size, and I happily make do until time to re-stock. Earlier this week I was beckoned into the office of a friend (I will not use names so as to protect the innocent), who pulled a bag from this shop to which I referred from under her desk and explained that one of the secretaries in the main office had visited the shop recently when there was a big sale going on. This lady had picked up three ‘garments’ that were marked as her size, and without trying them on, purchased them, only to find out later that they were NOT her size after all, and she couldn’t return them because they had been on clearance. She had brought them to work with her for a friend to try on, and by the time they were passed on to me, had been tried by three or four ladies who found they were unable to wear them.

I happily took them home with me,(though I felt I had to conceal the bag as I left the building, since it was clearly marked with the name of the shop and the outline of the --ahem-- female form). I found to my delight, that not only did the ‘garments’ fit me, they were nothing like what I usually purchase. (--Certainly not what Grandmother wore!) They are pretty and patterned and decorative. What fun!

Fast forward to the next morning at about 4:30, when I awoke with a migraine. (Please bear with me, this is important to my tale.) I arose and took my medication as soon as I could, but I knew it would be a few hours before I felt like driving. When I finally did make it into work a little after 9, my head was better, but I still felt sick, and I had to wear sunglasses because the light hurt my eyes. I sat down at my computer and wanted to do the proper, mannerly thing and thank the person responsible for my newfound foundational undergarment wardrobe. --I couldn’t remember exactly who it was, so I set about emailing the friend who had pulled me into her office and given me the bag.

I thought about doing something cute like, “Call me Cinderella--they fit!”, but instead went with the following-- Message Subject: Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders. Message Body: They fit beautifully and are such a nice change from my typical beige and black. Whom do I thank? -- Hit SEND.

Now, here is where you need to know that the first two letters of my friend’s name are the same first two letters of the last name of our, well, I’ll just say top administrator. The lights were dim in my studio, I wasn’t well, and yes, I partially blame my computer’s efforts to make my life easier by filling in the email address it believes I had in mind. I was busy doing other things when I heard the ‘new mail’ tone and went to the computer to see an email from our top administrator that read: Am I missing something?

Oh, yes, dear readers, I had sent that little message to the man who is over the school, who met me for the first time in August, and has since had about four conversations with me.

You know that feeling you get when you’ve done something you would pay good money to reverse or erase, but the trap door isn’t open and the witness protection program is not an option? Well, this is when I knew I just had to be a Steel Magnolia or, as my sister would say, put my big girl panties on and deal with it. (Yes, I realize that is yet another underwear reference, but you must admit it’s appropriate --sadly.) I responded to my administrator that I sent it to the wrong address, that I had awakened with a migraine and still wasn’t myself, and that I apologized. He responded “No problem.”

About that time, the friend who started this whole business by passing along the items in the first place had emailed me back in horror! She then appeared at my door and couldn’t even speak, she was laughing so hard!!

You know that earlier in this year, I was standing in the work room at the college where I teach part-time, talking to my beloved and highly-respected Music History professor, when I felt an odd sensation on my legs. I looked down, and there lay my slip in a puddle around my feet on the floor. This professor, being a consummate Southern gentleman, stepped forward immediately, reflexively, to pick up what I had “dropped.” In my best steel magnolia voice I said, “I declare! I believe I have lost my slip!” to which he replied, “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll let you retrieve it yourself.” (Thank goodness!)

If I had dreamed these incidents, we could analyze what in the world is going on with me and these underwear adventures. Since they happened in real life, I’m at a loss! Meanwhile, I’m happy to have supplied so many with a good laugh. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to wear the things now! My colleagues can’t even look at me without bursting into laughter.

Somebody help me!

We shall never speak of this again.

(My thanks to my friend Kim for the suggestion for the title. She's still laughing, too.)