“I’m gonna have you naked by the end of this song…”
-Justin Timberlake

Last night, I had a wardrobe malfunction. While it wasn’t to the epic proportions of the Janet Jackson boob-flash during the SuperBowl (there are no epic proportions about my boobs, after all), nonetheless, it was a wee bit mortifying, and to be honest, I still have no idea if anyone else but me noticed. The sad thing is, I think they did and were too polite to say, “Hey you – put those away!”

Last night as I was getting ready for our night out, I grabbed a pretty low cut shirt out of my closet. It comes to a pretty deep-v in the front, and often, I wear a camisole underneath for fear of flashing people. Last night, for some insane reason, I figured to be less “safe” about it, and figured also that the shirt was fitting well enough when I put it on that everything should stay put. I skipped the cami, did my hair and makeup, spritzed on some perfume and headed out the door.

I grabbed a hoodie to take with me, so I made it through dinner without putting on a show, but when we arrived at the theater we were nearly an hour early (and hey! We went to see Sex and the City – so now I’ve seen it twice), so we went to the game room so that my husband and Bromance could play some air hockey. I didn’t notice a breeze or anything, but at one point, I looked down and realized, Oh my hell, there’s my bra! Trying to figure a way to delicately say, nearly the whole right side was visible because my shirt had creeped down. Fuuuuuck. I quickly adjusted, and once we were in the theater, I put on my hoodie and kept it on.

My husband said he didn’t see the bra-flashing (I think he was disappointed), but I have no way of knowing if either Bromance or his wife saw it. The thought kind of embarasses me, but such is life, I suppose. Next time, I’ll give much more careful consideration to my wardrobe.

Oh, who am I kidding? I probably won’t.