I read somewhere recently, about a woman being caught in a, shall I say, less then flattering outfit, when someone came to her house unexpectedly. My home is my “safe” place, and some of the get-ups I flounce around in, should never see the light of day. Sadly, I too have been caught in some Interesting wardrobe choices over the years. (Thankfully, they pre-date u-tube.)
Many years ago, my husband and I purchased our first home. I carefully packed up our belongings, and meticulously identified the contents on the side of the boxes. Since I had been at my previous residence for over 9 years, and was unwilling to part with a thing, there was a boat load. I stayed at our old place overseeing the move, while my spouse directed traffic at our new digs. One would think that “someone” would have the movers place the containers according to their labeled contents. One would be wrong.
When I arrived late that night, our new home seemed curiously empty. However the bedroom at the back of the house was packed ceiling to floor, with every box I had packed. Remember the last scene in the first Indiana Jones movie, where they wheeled the Ark into the massive warehouse? Enough said.
The next morning, after grabbing a quick shower, and starting the wash from the previous day, I went looking for clothes. Well I couldn’t find them. Even if I knew which box they were in, I wouldn’t be able to get to them. The clothes I had worn the previous day were now mid-wash cycle. I began the joyful task of unpacking, keeping an eye out for something I could put on. Lucky husband had gone off to work.
After unpacking 5 or 6 boxes, I came upon a negligee. Now this was no ordinary night gown. This number had the “Fredrick’s of Hollywood” stamp of approval all over it. I had received this lovely get-up from some co-workers for my wedding night. The adjectives, sheer, plunging, peek-a-boo, and marabou trim, would all be useful in describing this ensemble. Well desperate times call for desperate measures, and with the alternative, wearing only underpants, on it went. I got back to work, unpacking and putting things away.
Ding-Dong! The front door bell. I am hoping it is a friend or family, coming to help, but no. It would be the cable guy. I try to be nonchalant as I tell him where the outlets need to go, and scurry back to the “warehouse” to hide out. Ding-Dong! Phone guy. Ding-Dong! Gas company guy, to hook up your dryer. Ding-Dong! Electric man, to switch over your service. All the while I am prancing through the house with this “Hookers R Us” outfit, trying unsuccessfully to shield the “peek-a-boo” parts from the now sizable audience of utility technicians. I believe the phrase “Desperate Housewife” was coined that day. Finally everyone was finished, and gone, or so I thought. One joker who’s utility will remain anonymous, came back later in the day with a partner, stating they needed to double check something! I think they were looking for my non-existant dance pole.
Now my Mother always told me to look for the silver lining in events. My silver lining here was the prompt response received from my utility companies for that first year. When something had to be repaired or replaced, I usually got a TEAM of technicians, immediately. I was thinking about donning the old outfit when I moved into my present home, but alas that was 25 years and 50+ pounds ago, and I fear it might have the opposite effect.
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