Tuesday, December 18, 2007

And so begins the hilarious adventure of a flutter-brained vixen named Poppy Buxom

Did you know that Sunday was Rose Sunday, i.e., the Sunday you light the pink candle in your advent wreath? (Not that I lit mine, because I can't find it. I grabbed this picture from the Internet. It was from the website of The Sisters of St. Joseph of Toronto. Yes, that's the kind of scumbag I am. I steal Internet images--from nuns.)

Anyway, Rose Sunday. It's the week we all lighten up. We realize we don't have to exist in a purple Advent gloom for ever. We see the light at the end of the tunnel. We realize that Christmas is coming.

So there I was, at church.

I was wearing a red wool suit not because I feel the need to dress nicely to sing in a choir, because I don't. After all, my clothes are going to be covered in a robe and surplice. The only thing that will show are my feet, and if I wear black shoes, I'm good.

No, I dressed nicely because I can't find most of my clothes. Many of the woolen ones are still stashed deep in closets, swathed in dry cleaner bags, or reek of mothballs. On top of that, a lot of the ones I can find are too big. Looking even halfway decent involves a lot of digging around and trying on. I settled on a red wool boucle Tahari suit. The fit wasn't great--both jacket and skirt were a bit loose--but I thought it passed muster. And it didn't reek of mothballs.

When I got to church, I realized I was going to broil under my choir robe and surplice. Broil. I decided to remove the suit jacket. And so I went to the tinkletorium, went wee-wee, removed my jacket, and put on my choir robe and surplice. And everything went well! The readings were about John the Baptist, the choir sang a Palestrina motet incredibly well, we sang two different versions of Veni, veni Emmanuel--even the sermon was interesting.

And! Wonder of wonders, when it came time to take my choir robe off, I managed to remember that underneath it, I was stripped down to my bra. And therefore, I hid myself in the bathroom to take my choir robe off and put my suit jacket back on. I sauntered out of the changing room feeling very smug.

Within seconds, one of the sopranos rushed over and was standing behind me, tugging at my skirt. And it wouldn't come down. My skirt was all bunched up, and it was stuck that way.

I don't need to go into too much detail about how embarrassing this was. I'll just reiterate what you already know--that pantyhose are evil. And even more evil than usual when you accidentally tuck the lining of your skirt into them, thus forcing the skirt fabric to bunch up.

And most evil of all when you decide to do the Underalls option. Yep--the Commando chorister.

Boy, are my cheeks red.

Just one of the many things (New England heritage, incredible egotism, and an irrational love of turtlenecks) Kate Hepburn and I have in common:


  1. Oh what I'd give for a photo -
    or even an eyewitness account.

  2. Look on the bright side: You've lost so much weight that you need a new wardrobe!

  3. Wait. There's a pun in here somewhere.


  4. Yes, there is. And I'm sitting on it.

  5. This is why there are no pantyhose in my house... a few semi-cruel pairs of tights, but no 'hose.

  6. Best to bare it all in church, that's what I think. It's...confessional? Cleansing? A more forgiving place than most?

  7. Obviously they need softer pews for choristers to sit on if your cheeks were red.

  8. I did the same thing many years ago - but found out only AFTER I walked into a ballroom full of conventioneers. Sigh.

  9. Cheeks in church! It must be true, pantyhose are the work of the de'il!

    And they make your feet smell bad.

    Well, mine anyway.

  10. You bring excitement when you enter a room. At least someone was kind enough to let you know about your skirt.

  11. This happened to me at a job interview. I was wearing underwear, but I didn't get the job. Maybe if I'd gone commando...


Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.