The Wardrobe Malfunction

Anything that can go wrong will go wrong- Murphy’s Law
S*** Happens. It’s a cliché. It’s also been the underlying theme of my life over this summer. This is not so much a complaint as it is an observation. I’ve spent hours contemplating my karma, but in the long run, the events of the past fifteen weeks have given me a long list of fodder and personal anecdotes.

Hello Granny-Panties, Goodbye Dignity

It all started on a Tuesday in early June. Tuesday’s are by definition my Saturday’s and are often spent running errands, doing laundry, & playing catch up. I packed up a large hamper full of laundry and hauled it down the stairs and across the street into my vehicle. Though my building does have a communal coin operated washer and dryer, I often choose to do my laundry at my parents house, since they don’t charge me $.75 a load. I tend not to think of this a freeloading, as I often add their laundry to the mix. As I was loading up my car, I got a phone call from a client, and as I was getting ready to run some errands I opted to pace up and down the street rather than sit in my car. Though it is not a particularly busy street, it is adjacent to 3rd street, the main street in the heart of the downtown and is one of the many factors that make apartment ideal. I’m located mere feet away from the organic grocery store, a stone’s throw from multiple coffee shops, gourmet restaurants, dive bars, and a book store, all I could ever need is within walking distance of this apartment. It was around 1:00 in the afternoon and there were a handful of people eating outside the grocery store, and people walking to and from offices etc. I paced outside my apartment for a good 10 minutes, answering my client’s questions, and when I was off the phone I jetted around the corner onto 3rd street and down a block to the bookstore. I passed several people on the sidewalk, smiled, nodded, made eye contact, and went on my way. As I browsed through the day-planners at the bookstore I brushed up against a shelf and suddenly it came to attention that the jersey skirt I was wearing was, and had been the entire time I was outside, tucked into my underwear.

This is one of the downsides of living alone, there is no one to tell you to fix your skirt before you go outside & inadvertently make a spectacle of yourself. At least if this happens in a public restroom there is usually a woman kind enough to let you know before you expose your cellulite to the world that your skirt is in fact tucked into your skivvies. I was actually disappointed in the community as a whole that no one had taken the time to let me know that I might be feeling a draft. I would like to think that I am the kind of person that if I saw some spastic girl with her ass hanging out, I would double check with her to make sure it was indeed a wardrobe malfunction & not just a bold fashion statement. Granted, I typically am not the type of person who tells random strangers if they have lipstick on their teeth, or something in their nose, because let’s face it, these are minor daily instances & often it’s more awkward to bring this to someone’s attention then to pretend you don’t see it.But I draw the line at ass exposure. This is something that no matter how awkward should be brought to the person’s attention. When the situation begins to border on indecent exposure, I feel as though the community should feel an overwhelming sense of obligation to tell that person & save them from further embarrassment.

My first thought after discovering that my skivvies were exposed to the greater downtown area was “Oh God, what underwear am I wearing today?” Though at the time I couldn’t remember, but since I had just loaded up about three weeks worth of laundry in my car, I knew that the odds of having cute ones on were not in my favor. Not that it really matters, but hey, if the entire downtown is going to see your underwear, wouldn’t you rather they see the cute pair edged in lace than the pair that you would deem to be unsightly?
After hearing the story for the first time, many have tried to make me feel better by saying “well it could have been worse, at least you were wearing underwear.” At this point I have to remind them that had I actually been going commando, there would have been no material for my skirt to get stuck in, so really, I wished I had had the foresight to forgo the underwear that day.

Later that week when I was recounting the story to my coworkers we began to discuss the contents of our underwear drawers. The main conclusion was this: If we were suddenly hit by a car and killed instantly, what would sort of underwear would we want to be discovered in? If you even own a pair of underwear you aren’t willing to die in, or at least be wheeled to the ER in, then the fact of the matter is they shouldn’t exist in your underwear drawer… not at the front of it anyway. For me the exception is going to the gym. Personally I don’t think that cute or sexy underwear have any place in my exercise routine, and so clearly a few pair of bland workout panties must be kept somewhere in your undergarment repertoire. But just because they are there is no excuse to be parading around town with your skirt tucked into them. Needless to say, I impulsively bought new underwear the next day, all of it in striking colors and mostly lacy…Sure I hope that this was an isolated incident, and though I certainly don’t plan on unknowingly showing the downtown my unmentionables again, I want to be prepared! If my ass insists on making a second appearance without consulting me first, the least I can do is stack my dresser full of things I would want to be discovered dead in.

A week or two went by, and as more time passed, I had resigned myself to being the mysterious townie with the granny panties. At least it made for a good story (at least people seemed to enjoy it when I told it) and I imagined it would make a fairly good anecdote for some of the people I walked passed “Last week I was eating lunch at Harvest Fresh, when a girl walked by with her skirt tucked into her underwear…. Now that is something you don’t see every day, it really made my lunch I almost choked on my salad” I was ok with being the mystery girl, no name, no face, just a story. Of course my hopes of staying somewhat anonymous were crushed, when I was outed by a co-worker.

“Oh so I met an acquaintance of yours the other night…..” She started. I already knew by her tone what was coming…. “I asked if she wanted to hear a funny story about you” Wonderful. Let me just say for the record that this underwear story is one I am comfortable telling to close friends and total strangers (It’s a good ice breaker), but the level of mortification is just high enough where it’s not something you just toss around casually to people you sort of know. At least not sober anyway.

I grimaced at the idea. I mean, sure it’s a funny story, but did she have to go into a place that I frequent and tell this person that I had been prancing around town in my underwear? It seemed like a violation of trust. If she had taken it out of the community I wouldn’t have minded. She could have told it at a party or restaurant in Portland, but instead went blocks from my home into a place that I go on a regular basis and put my trauma right out. What made it even worse was that before my co-worker even had the chance to elaborate my acquaintance said “Oh let me guess, she was walking around town with her skirt tucked into her underwear, right? One of my friend’s saw her, but didn’t know who it was”

Goodbye anonymity. In one fell swoop I went from a faceless nameless wardrobe tragedy to a tangible embarrassing moment. There was no deniability now; a friend of an acquaintance could place me at the scene. I no longer had visions of being someone’s anonymous lunch time anecdote. Rather than being the ambiguous star of a chance observation I was now headlining in my own awkward moment. “Do you know Tayler? Yeah, well I was grabbing a coffee downtown, and she was bopping around with her ass hanging out, totally oblivious.” And what really gets me, is that this friend of my acquaintance didn’t have the gall to tell me at the time that I was parading around with my ass in full view…. Up to that point I could at least cling onto the smidgen of denial that the reason no one stopped me was because no one had actually noticed. Hello Granny panties goodbye dignity.