The Blouse - A Cautionary Tale

Just like an Aesop's Fables you will have to wait until the end to read the moral.  It will be so worth it, though, and I think your life may even take a new trajectory as a result.

It was the fall of 2005.  I had just started back to teaching after two years of being a full time mom.  Along with the start of work came some really "super fun" family drama, which became the catalyst for some retail therapy, which ultimately resulted in the purchase of "the blouse."  I can tell you all of the other things I purchased as well because I have a super power named "clothing memory."  I can remember what I was wearing or most other people were wearing at major and minor events throughout history.  Some people have clothing memory thrust upon them, I was born with it.  I view it mainly as a curse because I would much, much rather have my brain space be used with more productive information like,  when I 'm in the shower, "Did I just wash my hair or shave my under arms, because I can't remember, so I guess I'll just do them again.....or for the first time.  I don't know."  I'm serious.  What a waste of time.  Or, even more costly, remembering when my library books are due.   It just feels awkward when the library staff thanks me personally for their pay increase.
How is the fact that Heather was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and khaki bermudas the first time I met her going to enhance my life?

"The blouse" was an Old Navy purchase.  It was  a sheer black number with off white polka dots.  Short sleeved, button down with a v neck and a tie in the front to give it the illusion of a higher neck line when you tied it into a draping bow tie.  I bought a black camisole to go with it or maybe I had one in the first place. Whatever.
On this particular morning, as fate would have it, one of the light bulbs in our closet had gone kaput, so there was a visibility issue.  I put "the blouse" on over just a black bra instead of the bra and a camisole.  I remember debating whether this was too risque or not, but then concluded that I had seen other people wear the look and it seemed normal.  I asked my husband if it looked okay, and because of the afore mentioned lighting issue, he said it looked fine, and trust me, my husband is very conservative, so he would have 86ed the outfit if he been give a clear visual of it.

My fist clue that this outfit selection might be problematic was my colleague, Rachael, glancing at my shirt and then quickly darting her eyes upward.  It was very evident that she was forcing herself not to look at my slutty attire.  Like someone with a huge zit or mole or something so prominent that is rude to stare at, but you just can't help it.  I immediately became extremely self-conscious about "the blouse" and my camisole deficit and crossed my arms in front of me trying to cover up as much of myself as possible.

A few moments later the students were arriving and I was in the hallway greeting them like the two-bit teacher hooker that I was, working her corner.

Then the whole scene went into slow motion when a mom, who wasn't quite sure I was the best fit for her child in the first place, starting walking down the hallway. I could spot the judgement and concern in her eyes from 10 yards away.  I smiled, bid her a good morning and didn't wave, as not to remove my arms from my covering my shirt.

Long story short, she wanted her child removed from my class because of the blouse (the straw that broke the camel's back, apparently) and, because I was teaching drinking games in class and that I was selecting reading material for the kids that supported domestic abuse.  First of all, the "drinking game" was a cup tapping, rhythm, coordination game I learned at bible camp - absolutely no alcohol involved, in fact no alcohol can come within 1 mile of that game, and secondly, just read Wayside School books.

As the story goes, we were able to solve the shirt problem by way of my friend's daughter's black, fringed, macrame poncho, which I wore under the shirt.  It proved to add some very interesting flare to the ensemble and I think I got more compliments the rest of the day on that, than any other outfit I've ever worn.  I guess if I wanted similar compliment volume without a wardrobe change I could have simply switched venues and headed to the nearest Hooters.

All in all, at least I left some kind of legacy for myself.  Would have been nice if it was because of my stellar teaching skills, but, like most strung out ladies of the evening, I'll take what I can get.