I don't even know where to begin. A fair warning: this story has no end. In fact, I fear it has many more tragic chapters. Here are chapters 1 and 2.
Chapter 1-
There is only one place to start, and that is at the beginning. However, I don't quite know where the beginning is. So lets just say the beginning was when I was born.
Clothes have never been my thing. I like feeling free and unrestricted. Clothes do not allow this to happen. So: whenever the opportunity to be unrestricted arises I seize it. This does not mean I get naked. Lets not be vulgar. This means I wear a sun dress or a pair of loose pajama pants and a tank top.
We will start on a Sunday. I was getting ready for church. I put a slip on but decided to leave my skirt off until right before I walked out the door. Bad idea. I finished getting ready for church, but by this time I was running late. I ran into my room, threw on my shirt and shoes, grabbed my purse and ran out the door. I got across the street and past the neighbor's house before I realized how breezy it was. I looked down to see myself in: a slip. I totally spaced putting on my skirt. Slips do NOT replace skirts. You can often see through a slip. Yup, I could see right through it. I bolted (faster than I've ever bolted) back to the house and put on my skirt. You are probably wondering how I could forget something as important as the bottom half of my outfit. My answer is this: I have no idea.
Chapter 2 (this one is a doozy!)-
This chapter does not include one specific incident. It includes several, unfortunately. One time about a year ago I was getting ready for class one morning. I threw on my favorite shirt and headed off to class. Class was fine. The class after that was fine, too. After my second class I was done with school for the day. I headed out the door that led to where my car was parked. I headed down the stairs only to stop mid-stair and realize I had forgotten to put my bra on that morning. I quickly folded my arms in utter humiliation and smoothly made my way to my car. The End.
Except for this happens all the time. I've called my mom from work asking her to bring me a bra. Not a joke.
I average once a week of putting my shirt on before I realize I need a bra. Sorry world, that's just the way I roll.
Anyone with me on this? Please say yes!
