It was a bright, beautiful, breezy spring day in the Fraser Valley. After a 6 month winter the warm wind and smell of freshly cut grass welcomed you like a friendly hug. The cheeseburger birds chirped their signature chirp and the mason bees buzzed around, hopping from blooming flower to blooming flower.
I had spent my day atop my deck watching my son splish splash in his baby pool, posting pictures of his cute little baby face to my social media accounts. I then realize I had been oogling over him far longer than I thought and had exactly 12 minutes to change out of my PJs, dry off and clothe my 1 year old, and race down the street to my girls school for pick up. I ripped through my closet trying to find something weather suiting and settled on an off white floral flowy sundress that I slipped on over top of the bralette that I had slept in. NO SHAME. Luckily my hubby had stopped by the house just as I was about to strap the little one into his umbrella stroller, so I handed the child off to him and booked it out the door.
I rushed through the rocky path, past a line up of other parents waiting for their offspring to be released for the day and started down the tall set of stairs that goes from the road to the school yard.
During my descent, a gust of spring air whipped through my light little sundress and flipped it up almost right over my head.
My full ass was out. On the school grounds. In front of all the parents.
In my haste to get out the door I failed to acquire a pair of shorts, or boyshorts for that matter. No, of course on this day I was wearing a very revealing lacey thong.
To make matters worse, the breeze kept breezing (word?) and the dress kept flipping. I was running across the school trying to get to the courtyard where I was to pick up child #1 whilst attempting to wrestle my dress that looked like it was being taken over by a poltergeist.
Finally in the courtyard, face bright red with embarrassment, I plopped myself down on a cement planter in the middle and avoided eye contact with all of the other parents. The bell rings and I collect daughter #1 and start to make my way, carefully, to get daughter number #2 holding the back of my dress the entire way like I was keeping in a bowel movement. I kept holding it this way until I eventually made it home with the kids and tell my DH about this mortifying experience which, of course he laughs hysterically at. His only question?
“Did you get any whistles at least?”
No more sundresses for school pick up. The lesson has been learned the hard way.