The Misunderstanding

Ben and I attended a beautiful wedding Friday night, and initially just planned on bringing the kids with us. I was deciding what to wear, I had just settled on little sequined number, when I realized, "I can't carry Layla around all night in this dress. It won't survive her curious little hands..." And suddenly it hit me - call the Mimi! Why would I want to bring two small children to a fancy wedding where I'll constantly be shushing and pacifying and distracting?
And so my mother graciously consented to the last minute babysitting, and in hindsight, it really was a lifesaver. The wedding was at a STUNNING historic hotel downtown, and it turned out to be such a fun date with my man, in spite of the upcoming tale...

The aforementioned little number I had decided to wear that evening was designed in such a way that a strapless bra was necessary. I, however, do not encounter many occasions during this season of my life that call for such an undergarment. Therefore, the only option I had was an utterly uncomfortable strapless bra that I've had for a good 10 years. It was one of those bras with the clear plastic straps in the back (those are horrid, by the way) and was entirely too small. BUT it was the only option I had, and I think we know that the alternative (au naturale) would not work.

So, I sucked it up (literally and figuratively) and made the most of it, and it was working out just fine, despite the discomfort. That is, until the reception. We had just sat down at a lovely table with 6 very nice strangers, when I felt a dreaded pop on my back. And then a release of tension, which would have been welcome if not for the sinking realization that my bra had just broken and was dangerously close to exposing itself, and me. I discreetly whispered to Ben the situation and frantically looked around for a place to escape to. It was disheartening to think about rushing off to the restroom which was across the whole ballroom, through the lobby, on the other side of the building. I saw a door not far from us and asked Ben what it was. He said it was a little storage room that led to the emergency exit. We decided this was our best option and so he escorted me into the tiny room. I hoisted up the back of my dress so that he could fix the strap, which had not just come undone but had broken completely. He decided to tie it together. I was astounded to learn that the bra could actually get more uncomfortable. Just as he had fixed it, pop, it came apart again. We were in there a good 5 minutes.

Just as he was letting my dress back down, one of the servers opens the door to the tiny room. I will never forget the look on his face. First it was surprise and confusion, and then it turned into gritty realization. We both immediately began trying to explain what happened. I was mumbling something about a wardrobe malfunction, while Ben was enthusiastically denying any misconceptions. He didn't seem to believe us.

It was an embarrassing walk back to our table, and I couldn't help but giggle nervously. It occurred to me that our adamant explanations were probably exactly what people who were engaging in a salacious encounter might say.

I don't know what I would have done had the kiddos been with us. But, it all turned out okay. My uncomfortable bondage stayed awkwardly attached for the rest of the evening, and we came away looking like a couple of pervs. That's a successful Friday night if you ask me.