DD and I went on a marathon shopping trip on Saturday. We needed some rather specific things for Egypt, you see: flowy skirts below the knee, loose-fitting tops that cover the shoulder and don’t show heaps of cleavage, eyeliner that doesn’t run – you know, stuff for a hot climate. We already have hot weather clothing that we wore in Greece last summer, of course, but Egypt being a fairly conservative Muslim country, we thought we’d better bring a few items so as not to stick out like sunburnt sore thumbs yelling, “Hey! We’re tourists!” It’s a question of attempting to respect the culture in which we’ll be spending two weeks.

Much money was spent, much sushi was eaten and bubble tea consumed (a shopping tradition for us), much fun was had. Sometimes I don’t like going shopping with my daughter, but this time was great. We both came home with almost everything we had envisioned purchasing, and then some.

One of the things I bought was this:

Just a light cotton sleeveless shirt with some small ruffles at the shoulders, some gathers at the front, long enough to be worn with skinny capris or pants, buttons down the front.

And that was my mistake. The buttons.

I wore this new shirt to work today, atop some denim capris, along with black flats. Very comfy, yet professional. Good thing, since unbeknownst to me, I was to participate in big meeting all afternoon with various school big kahunas and the parents of this little kid who has some rather serious issues. Even though I hadn’t known about it till about two hours before it started, I was there and involved (and fortunately, considering the very late notice, I was not chairing). Actually, I had to be there; the meeting was in my room.

When the meeting was over, so was the school day, so off I trotted to the office. The secretary had wanted my help with the wording on some certificates to be presented to kids at our end-of-the-year assembly coming up. As I stood in front of her desk, puzzling with her about how to word each certificate appropriately, she looked up at me and said, “Quit flashing me! You’re not my type!”


I looked down. Of course there were buttons undone. Of course they were right between my breasts. Of course there was cleavage prominently displayed.

And of course, I had sat through an hour-and-a-half long meeting with some rather important people, some of whom were men, apparently flashing them.


9 responses to “Undone

  1. OooooOO a valet! Excellent scheme. Do you think you could slip that one by PG? (It’s not what it looks like, honey, Raoul is just my valet. He was buttoning UP my shirt”)

  2. Jazz – Yeah, it was one of those typical meetings where we go round and round, nothing truly gets solved, and the chairperson was incompetent to keep everyone focused on the same thing. So maybe you’re right.

    Pauline – If I wore that top in a Muslim country like Egypt, unbuttoned the way it was yesterday, I’d probably get arrested for lewd behaviour or something similar!

    XUP – Except that I am most emphatically NOT well-endowed. It appears that I am just unable to dress myself properly and button my shirt up all the way. I think I need a valet.

    Nora – Horrors! Can’t you just imagine the chaos that would cause? I’d be run out of the country, I’m sure!

  3. It’s a good thing you found out now and not in a bazar in Egypt.

  4. Many of my well-endowed friends always sew snaps in between the top buttons of any new blouses or shirts they buy – for this very reason. Also for the gapping that tends to take place. But I think Jazz is right, who wouldn’t rather gaze at cleavage than pay attention to a meeting?

  5. “And of course, I had sat through an hour-and-a-half long meeting with some rather important people, some of whom were men, apparently flashing them.”

    So you won’t be wearing this top around Egypt then? It could get you some serious discounts! 😉

  6. I’m sure your cleavage was much more interesting than the meeting.

  7. Just one of life’s free treats, methought. And then I dispelled such untoward thinking — sorta.

    • mrwriteon – And this is why women sigh a lot around the men in their lives. (But I do appreciate the “sorta”. A for effort.)