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.
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.