Everyone has a most embarrassing moment. Right?
I didn’t. Every time that the question, “What’s your most embarrassing moment?” would come up, I would shrug and say, “I don’t really do anything embarrassing.” I realize that the very act of me typing these words opens me up to my siblings recollecting every mortifying event in my dark and awkward past, and then posting them for the world to read about. But that is a risk that I’m willing to take, because I don’t think that any of them will outweigh THIS most embarrassing moment that I’m about to post on the internet for everyone, including pastors and strangers and future employers, to read.
I now have a most embarrassing moment.
It has to do with bras.
I don’t like to spend a lot of money on bras. They can be ridiculously expensive, but I’m a Target girl, myself. $12 should do the trick. I should probably invest $60 in one that gets the job done right, but that just doesn’t make sense in my life right now. My cheap bras make sense.
Except for when the underwire somehow makes it way through the lining, and gets pushed up out of the bra, and, unbeknownst to me, winds up encircling the TOP of the boob, in plain sight of the checker at the grocery store, who, for some reason, couldn’t stop staring at my chest.
You know that foggy moment of realization, where you think, “I have no idea how to get myself out of this one”? That moment is all the more awkward when the only solution involves publicly reaching your hand down your cleavage.