Yep. I did it again. Actually, this is the third time, but I never wrote about the second time.
The end of the story is that I ended up standing outside, chatting with my neighbor for twenty minutes before I realized I did not have a bra on. And, yes, it was VERY obvious.
Rewind 2 hours, I had come in from my run, took a shower, threw on a cotton dress. A very thin cotton dress, I might add. I could not find the bra I wanted in my bedroom and figured it was downstairs. I came down with every intention of putting on the bra but then I got sidetracked somehow.
Mark went to the driving range, and the whole house became chaos in those thirty minutes, and finding the bra was long forgotten. I heard my email alert on my phone and discovered it was actually Brady’s email, and it was an email asking him to confirm his PAYPAL ACCOUNT! Brady having his own email address is both wonderful and terrible. I checked it last week and discovered that he was emailing back and forth with customer service agents regarding his cloudBit that was not working. He never even told me it was broken, just took it upon himself to contact customer service. Wonderful. Signing up for his own Paypal account, not so wonderful.
“Brady,” I called for him, “You’re not getting a Paypal account!”
I walked into his bedroom to find him with all of his bank account information out and he was entering the account number into Paypal. I took all the papers out of his hands just in time to hear Colin ask for a towel.
“Um, I spilled a little Kool Aid,” he said.
Holding all the bank papers, I walked to the kitchen to see that Colin had poured an overflowing cup of Kool Aid and as he was trying to jam the lid on, more and more Kool Aid was shooting out of the cup, all over the kitchen.
At that point, I didn’t know which situation was more urgent. I put the bank papers down somewhere (need to find those, come to think of it), cleaned up the spill and overspray, and had a very firm discussion about asking parents before signing up for Paypal.
“Let’s go outside, boys”
When one cannot handle the chaos of three boys in a small house, ‘tis always better to take them outside. Unless, of course, one is still not wearing a bra.
When we came outside, I saw our neighbor kids and mom from across the way. We walked over and invited them to come across the street for a water balloon fight. Even with being unaware of the bra situation, I still felt awkward, because I THINK I know her name, but I am not sure. So I just never, ever say her maybe-name. We are at the point where we have had way too many conversations for me to admit that I don’t know her name. I just keep hoping I’ll overhear her husband call for her or something.
So they came over and we were chatting for at least twenty minutes before something caused me to look down and I realized. And I don’t have a poker face. I crossed my arms across my chest. And then I tried to figure out WHAT to do. Do I just play it off, like this is just me? This is how I dress in the summer? Or do I tell her? Do I pretend I have to go to the bathroom and put on the proper undergarments?
By that point, Mark was home, so I asked him to keep an eye on the kids because I had to go inside. I fixed myself and returned outside and then I just blurted out to her that I forgot to put a bra on.
She said, “Hey, whatever…”
I wish I could work up the guts to ask her her name. Surely, it could be no more awkward than today.