Several years ago I needed a formal gown for an event. I decided to go to a dress boutique in Charlotte on the same day as a scheduled meeting for work to accomplish two things in one day. My mom came along to help find the perfect gown. For the business meeting I wore dress slacks and a cardigan set, it was an appropriate look for the day. I was late getting into the city so I hurriedly browsed the racks of dresses. Mom and I found a couple of possibilities and off I headed to the dressing room.
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| Pants on Fire |
I’m weird about dressing rooms. I get oddly paranoid that I’m being watched so I put on the dress first. Then I took off my pants. The first dress worked well and I quickly put my pants back on under it. I was almost late to my meeting. There were too many layers of fabric and I couldn’t really see my pants that well. It felt like my toe caught a string as I put on the second leg. I heard a sound like a long zipper closing. Hmm. I removed the dress and then I panicked.
From the dressing room my mom heard me scream, “Oh dear Jesus, oh no!”
From the dressing room my mom heard me scream, “Oh dear Jesus, oh no!”
In my haste, my toe caught a string and that string ripped the entire side seam out of my pants up to the pocket. I was staring at myself wearing one legged dress chaps in the dressing room mirror. My entire leg was exposed and what once was a pants leg was now a hanging sheet of fabric. I had nothing to wear – even to the parking lot. The saleslady and my mom came running. Remember I was in a dress store, they don’t sell pants; I was in trouble. Luckily the saleslady said, “Wait, I think I have one pair of corduroy pants that you could wear.” I was relieved. The panic was dying down. Then she brought the new pants.
Her “pants” were a pair of beige corduroy pants with colored rhinestone flames up the sides of both legs, hundreds and hundreds of rhinestones. I would literally have flaming loins if I wore these pants. I immediately said, “I can’t wear those pants.” The images in my mind of hot pants, pants on fire, and on and on started building. I had a very important meeting and I couldn’t show up looking ready to perform Copacabana with Elvis Presley.
But I was late. My mom was emphatic, either I wore the pants or I could wear the ball gown I’d just purchased to the meeting. My choices weren’t good. I opted for the pants. It was better to go as a flashy Vegas marquee than Cinderella; I guess.
I put on the pants. Looking at myself in the mirror, I was the personification of a mullet – all business on the top and total party on the bottom.
I had to own it. I could do this. Out of the dressing room I stoically walked in my cardigan set and those flaming pants. Liberace in his most intricate costume had nothing on me, absolutely nothing.
In the meeting I got strange looks. I work in concrete and most industry meetings are attended predominantly by men. One guy just looked at me and shrugged. Some stared for a minute with larger than normal eyes and then looked really confused. I remained quiet. I’d accepted my fate and those pants so I stared straight ahead. I learned to be more careful in the dressing room and always have a spare pair of pants.