When my husband asked me to drop him at work early one morning, I knew it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
So, when I ended up in a church full of kids and mommas with no barrier between my clothes and my lady parts, no one should’ve been surprised.
That’s right. No undergarments. I’ve nursed 5 kids. I’m fighting a losing battle with gravity.
Nevertheless, there I was looking like I was all set to audition for a remake of the Blob. And, all I could think about was what are THEY thinking about me. (Because they all had x-ray vision, right?)
Let me start at the beginning. My husband’s car was in the shop. He got me up about 5 a.m. to take him to work. Somehow I ended up in a pair of jeans and a hoodie and in the car. Not necessarily in that order. But he made it to work, I made it back home and back to bed. I got up again about 8 a.m., and everything was right with the world.
It wasn’t until I took my 11 year old to church to rehearse an end-of-the-year program later that morning that I realized something wasn’t right.
I hopped out of my car feeling a little too comfortable . . . well ventilated.
I got a sick feeling in my stomach. I realized I wasn’t wearing ANY undergarments. I must’ve shimmied out of my jammies and into my clothes earlier, obviously skipping at least 2 important steps in between.
Now, I was about to walk into a room–no, a CHURCH–filled with mommas and kids looking like I was trying to hide water balloons under my shirt. Maybe, I thought, I can wing it if I keep my arms folded across my chest all morning.
I felt exposed, uncomfortable. I would’ve gone back home if my kid hadn’t already run into the building.
So, I walked towards the church real slow like, so nothing jiggled giving away my secret. What would they think?
I don’t know if you have this problem, but sometimes I’m afraid people are judging me when they really aren’t.
But, a bunch of scary scenarios popped into my head. What if I choked and one of my chichis flew over my shoulder and rendered the pour soul giving me the Heimlich unconscious? Paramedics arrive, cut off my clothes and unveil my secret. Awkward.
Why they’d need to cut off my clothes if I was choking, I don’t know, but, hey, it’s my drama.
They’d all then judge me for a pantie-less harlot. I waited for the whispers and the stares.
But they never came because no one noticed.
They didn’t notice because it wasn’t obvious. Sometimes I can get a little crazy thinking about what other people think of me or with what I think they’re thinking of me. So, like a goof, I walk around under this cloud of imaginary judgement.
And, when I make decisions or overreact because I’m spazzing over some irrational belief? Not good.
If you want to screw up your day (or life), this is a sure-fire way to do it: Imagine people are always judging you, whether they are or not, and spaz out about it. Things rarely turn out well when I act on assumptions.
Bottom line: I can’t live in fear of other people. Chances are, no one would’ve ever known I was a de-pantiefied wench unless I told them (or unless I choked and paramedics had to cut off my clothes).