Wardrobe Malfunction

Today on the subway to work, Hollaback and I were sitting across from a woman I'd venture was in her late 50s. Being that it was a sticky humid day, most people were wearing loose summer apparel. This particular specimen sported loose brown drawstring pants, a sleeveless brown top and sandals. She wore a face of morning disinterest and shifted around in her seat to get avoid the sweaty obtrusive legs of her fellow commuters seated next to her. As she pulled at her top to adjust it for comfort, she revealed that zipper of her trousers had been left undone, exposing an eyeful of brown lace underwear to anyone sitting across from her. She was clearly unaware of her exposure. I exchanged the knowing glance with Hollaback. She had seen it too. Now the moral dilemma--do you indicate to the woman that she's exposed or leave her to discover it on her own once she had left the train, walked to her job and had a moment of "how long was this exposed?" horror once she actually faced a mirror? Before we could be decisive on the point, she had disembarked the train at Columbus Circle.

We've all had those moments. I remember all of mine. At least the ones I was aware of.

In the days when we actually wore nude pantyhose with dresses for business in the warmer weather, I had a terrible habit of accidentally tucking my skirt into the back of the panty hose. This often happened when I was slithering into those unforgiving acrylic casings of the late 1980s. More often than not, someone (usually a woman) would alert me to my broad exposure, but it usually came at a point when I had already given a good view to the general public. I once got on a street car in San Francisco and rode a fraction of the commute (standing in a full car) before some kind soul alerted me to my condition. And don't get me started on wrap around skirts. I've had so many exposures with that clothing genre that I could start a non profit association for the prevention of this style.

At a point when you'd think I'd gotten wise, I still have malfunctions. Last summer, when exiting up some subway steps wearing a voluminous A-line skirt, the blast of air from the departing subway sent the skirt flaring up over my head. Seriously. A horrific moment that happened simply without warning. At least I was aware of this exposure. Curiously, I came out of that situation wishing the underwear I had on was worth the exposure. My neighbors still look at me strangely.
So these things happen.

On my way to the subway tonight, there was a horrendous downpour of rain common to the summer thunderstorm. I had just gotten my hair blown out for an event tomorrow, so I gathered the collar of my zebra striped shirt dress around my neck to protect it from the elements. Once safely in the dry refuge of the subway, I smoothed my dress, found a seat and started to read the latest issue of New York magazine. Ten minutes into my ride (in a crowded car, I might add) I happened to glace down and noticed the fifth button down on my zebra stripe shirt dress was gaping open, exposing the bland but obvious landscape of my white underwear.

Of course.