Suspiro – Tale of Mortification

Mortification is the word of the day.

My day had been planned out with a chart and everything. Super Academia.

and then I got distracted. I missed the last of my buses, so I took the car and drove around campus trying to find metered parking (I don’t have a parking pass… not until January). I found metered parking across campus. Normally, not a problem. Today, two problems:

1) No bike.

2) The cats have hidden my shoes, and I had to run over to my apartment to find shoes… the only pair I found were some of my three inch heels. I love them, all of them, but they’re idiotic shoes.

So, I’m hiking across campus in these ridiculous shoes, carrying my thirty pound messenger bag across my chest, and not wearing a coat. The coat is important when wearing a button down shirt and carrying a messenger bag. The coat protects the buttons.

I walked into my classroom thirty minutes late. I sat and got oriented. A few minutes into the discussion, I notice my professor glance at my chest. Chest glancing isn’t entirely unusual, after all, and I’ve certainly had moments where my eyes are not obeying my brain and sense of propriety… and this is my Mr. Rogers prof that I’m certain didn’t mean anything by it, so I don’t hold it against him. I do, however, subtly pull the lapels closer together.

About five minutes later, I stretch my shoulders and I see my shirt pucker oddly.

Yes. Indeed. The strap of my bag had unbuttoned a button on my shirt. Worse, it unbuttoned the ONE button that would display my bra.

That’s bad enough, right, flashing a prof? Wait.

Part of my distraction this morning was that I had forgotten to do laundry yesterday, and I was lacking clean clothes. I scrounged up most of it, but had picked up a bra from the apartment while I was there. ‘Twas clean because I don’t often wear it. Threw it on and left.

Yes. Indeed. I flashed peachy-fleshtoned lace.

Mortification is the word of the day.

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