Because I am lazy and cheap, I now only do my laundry at my parents' house once every four to six weeks. This mostly works out fine. I keep a three-month supply of underwear and socks, and I wear suits on weekdays which all require dry cleaning.
This morning, however, I awoke to a dwindling supply of clean blouses. I neglected to pick up the last batch from the dry cleaners, but I wanted a black shirt to pair with a light grey suit. The only clean black tops in my closet were ratty tshirts or polo shirts, an oversized men's oxford, and a couple of black hoodies. Nothing that screamed "Attorney at Law."
I dug around in my bra drawer and found one last clean black camisole. Unfortunately, it was a camisole that only fit me a full cup size ago. I squeezed the girls in, aligned them politely, and figured we'd all get by. Yet though the camisole looked more or less ok when I stood in front of my mirror at home, I hadn't counted on what would happen when I actually moved throughout the day. Suffice it to say that by 10 a.m., I'd flashed something like 10% of the judiciary in Los Angeles.
I attempted to remedy the situation first by tucking the bottom of the camisole into my underwear. I figured that would keep everything firmly in place. Wrong. More of the girls just kept spilling from the top.
Then I looked toward our primitive office supplies for a solution. I took out a roll of scotch tape, turned away from the two other attorneys I share an office with, and tried to tape my boobs to my camisole. That didn't work either. Fucking gravity.
I tried rounding and hunching my shoulders to conceal the problem, but you know what that did? It just made my cleavage appear fuller.
My midday, I gave up and accepted that I would have to bare my boobs to all my peers. That's not an entirely unattractive prospect when I'm drunk, but it was kinda sorta terrible to think of while sober. I got cruised in the hall by one very tall, very blond dyke and by a rounded process server who seemed not to care about the ring on his finger.
So, what have I learned from this lesson? Will I break down and hoard quarters for the washers in my building? Nope. Not gonna happen. But I will pick up my dry cleaning.
4 comments:
Oh, Kiki - why am I so far away when you clearly need me nearby to laugh at this shit?!
This is brilliant. Just brilliant. You and your boobs deserve a TV show.
Come home!!
Well, the lesson I would learn is buy more clothes. I do the laundromat thing, and avoid it until I'm desperate and wearing frilly black nylon bikinis that say lucky across the ass in rhinestones (and knowing of course that that would be the day of my first ambulance/emergency room while somewhere in another world my mother, who gave them to me, laughed her ass off).
This means of course that eventually all my super-tacky underwear shows up in public at a laundromat. My mother=still laughing.
Dude, I have at least a month's worth of professional clothes. That's about all I can stand. If I could wear jeans and a sweatshirt to court, I could do my laundry just twice a year.
And yes, your mother did have a thing for the world's tackiest underwear.
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