Various states of undress

I don't know what it is about blogging that makes me want to reveal things about myself that I usually don't share.

Of course I do.

I’m compelled by the false guise of anonymity.

Have you ever seen the BBC comedy, Miranda? It's hilarious. Miranda is a 30 something, sexually repressed, boarding schooled only child, with a joke shop that sells chocolate penises and a mother obsessed at marrying her off.  She finds herself, too often, in a state of public undress.  

It's always awkward and she's undoubtedly discovered, by the man of her unrequited dreams, or her posh judgmental friends.

She's more than once made me reflect on the state of (public) undress.

Have you found yourself exposed publicly: literally, not figuratively?

I have.

Recollection. Trying on fancy new lingerie (note the use of the term ‘lingerie’ in place of ‘underwear’ because the term ‘underwear’ is not sophisticated nor revealing enough for this fancy product).  Strutting into the kitchen to show it off: 'Look at me baby.'

It was a winter evening.

The light was on.

The leafless walnut tree in the backyard gave no protection from the neighbours.

I believe more was revealed than intended…or at least the audience was larger than first anticipated. Hmmmm…

There was the time I was late for the bus. Running along Charles Street, Moonah, with backpack askew and handbag across my chest which quickly resulted in not one, not two, but the majority of the buttons on my shirt splitting open.  

I missed the bus.

It was a necessary evil.

One day whilst doing laps at Friends' pool in New Town, my speedos gave up the ghost.  Literally, the seam split A to T.  Fortunately, my gal was there to bring a towel over to the pool edge and help me out, discretely. 

Oh dear. 

I missed out on a spa that day.

Then there was that time buying The Gourmet Traveller at the Salamanca Newsagent. My handbag was swinging draped across my chest, (do I never learn?) over the black and white striped shirt with the dodgy buttons. I paid for the mag, put my wallet away and looked down. Yep, I'd conducted the ENTIRE transaction completely exposed.

Every.

Single.

Flippin' button undone.

Not long ago, I went drinking with my friend's sons and they told me their own southern exposure stories. I know it happens. Even to young men.  But that doesn't make it right does it?

Make me feel better. What have you unwittingly exposed?

Skye xxx