Wearing it with pride

Two things happened recently that mark me as an exhibitionist. If you know me online, you're thinking, "Duh." If you know me in real life, you're cringing with me. I was going to do comics on this, but couldn't get my limited artistic talent to convey the full scope of *grrooooaaannnn*.

Incident One: I went to a business presentation a week ago. It was a big deal with a super important guy I work with, someone I recently signed on to work with, and someone she knows that is killing the real estate market and might join my team. It was important that I make a great impression and seeing as how I've been feeling a little schlumpy, I decided all new underwear were in order. I wanted to feel sexy and confident underneath the usual work clothes and besides, my underwear have a tendency to fall off without warning. Twice in the last year is more of a chance than I care to take.

So I bought all new sexy underthings that match. They push up some parts, offering breasts out on well seamed platters of lace and frills, while the lower half of me is encased in see-through mesh, g-strings, lace, and artistically colored silks. For this meeting I chose the pale blue and white french combo of lifting balcony demi for the top and a g-string see through matching bottom half. I paired it with a low cut black blouse under a red bolero, and a short, flirty black skirt. Trust me, it was workin'.

I parked my car and walked the block and a half to the restaurant. As I reached the corner of "Main" and 2nd downtown to the lunch rush traffic, I took a call on my cell and waved to one of the guys I was supposed to meet, through the restaurant window. Just then, the wind kicked up, lifting my skirt and flashing ALL of downtown. Pale blue, SEE-THROUGH g-string, ass hanging out on full display.

I managed to get my skirt under control (read: death grip of mortification), headed for the saved table and greeted my party. My chair faced the restaurant and with the recent horror of g-string angst so fresh, I was relieved to sit with my back to the wall of windows. Then I wouldn't have to gaze upon the thoroughfare of my humiliation. But alas, modesty was not to be!

Why, no, of course not. Instead, I smoothed my skirt down over my ass to sit, bending at the waist. That's when I discovered that my short black skirt didn't cover my ass when I bend. Guessing from the ruckus outside the window and the fact that once again, my ass was reflected off the plate glass to the other lunchers in the restaurant, I gave an encore showing! My guest choked on her tea. Someone outside ran his bike off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic, and the cute guy across the room I'd been eye flirting with turned red and kept his face averted the rest of the time I was there.

I was horrified. Humiliated. Done with the day. But being the professional, I soldiered on. Yes, that's what Mias do. I ignored it all, finished lunch, convinced the guest that we actually are an organized team of individuals, and left the restaurant for my car with my fists clenched into my skirt. No way in hell was it happening again.

Right?

*sigh*

Never say never. I reached the parking platform by way of stairs, pleased to see I'd made it that far without incident. As I stepped from the enclosed stairwell to the parking level, I missed an immediate step right outside the door. Down I went, knee to the pavement, ass in the air. To add insult to scraped up injury, the wind flipped up the back of my skirt (not difficult as my ass was already in the air and we've established that the skirt wouldn't have covered it anyway) and I treated the entire parking area to my full moon rising.

Three times is the charm. And charming is apparently my middle name.

Thank God I no longer work downtown! I scampered quickly to my car and drove off.

The second incident (yes, there's another):
I flew back from California on Monday. It was a long trip. I knew it would be as the trip over took several stops from point A to point B. I decided that this time I'd be comfortable. I grabbed my slip on sandals for easy checkpoint removal, my soft jeans rolled up to expose some leg, and a very comfortable cotton hoodie. It was short sleeved and decorative, cute, not sexy. I don't always go for the groin you see.

I did opt to wear another sexy under thing because why not? Comfortable shouldn't mean you sacrifice your personal, secret confidence builders.

I thought my confidence builder must have been showing in the shine of my eyes or the brightness of my smile as I met plane load after plane load of people. They looked at me. They smiled as they filed past.

I was on fire!!!

Men looked a lot longer. A lesbian sat next to me and devoted her entire in flight attention to me (which is flattering if not pointless) and a married man on another flight (and he was HAWT) got really comfortable with leaning into me and looking like he wanted to plant one on me. I wouldn't have entertained it in case you're wondering. I don't think of myself as pretty or attractive, but this day was kind of amazing. I'd never seen anything like it and I thought maybe Julia's assertion that I was beautiful might actually be believed.

I got off the last flight, picked up my suitcase and rolled it toward the long term parking lot. The elevator closed on me to take me to the floor where I'd parked and as the mirrored doors reflected back, I suddenly understood.

The zipper on my hoodie had slid nearly to the middle of my torso...fully displaying my lifted, laced, demi-ed cleavage in DD proportions.

And this is where it hit me... my wardrobe is out to destroy my life. Please. Feel free to share your embarrassing woes in the comments area. I should like to know I'm not alone.