In My Defense, At Least They Were Clean

Have I mentioned lately that I am loving my new job? I usually work only two days a week, which leaves us with a lot more time together as a family than we had been enjoying.

Last Friday was just such a day. I was home from work, Brandon was home from work, and we decided it was the perfect day to run a couple of errands together with the girls, and pick up some pieces for the kids Halloween costumes.

I know it's still September and 100 degrees in Houston today, but I am lighting my pumpkin candle, shopping for Halloween stuff, and WILLING the cooler weather to come. It WILL come. I WILL get to turn my air conditioner off (or at least adjust the temperature) sometime in the near future.

Back to Friday. We're running around the house, getting shoes on the girls and bows in the hair. Loading up the diaper bag and the sippy cups. Grocery list in the purse. I realize the new shirt I am wearing is cut a little lower than I had hoped, and decided to just throw one of my black tank tops under it real quick. As Brandon is loading the kids in the van, I rummage through the four loads of clean laundry in my living room, finally finding the black tank I was looking for, and quickly layer it under my new shirt before running out the door.

First stop? Our local costume store. For Halloween costumes? No, for face make up for a video Brandon is doing for church. I love our church and how well they indulge in my husband's creativity. Brandon was in this same costume store just last month, buying up "strong man wresting costumes" for the last video they did at church. He's in their so often, in fact, that the costume-store-guy recognizes him on sight and they chat about the church and the video and how Halloween business is at the costume store. Nothing like a little "spontaneous evangelism" while shopping for fake blood.

We wandered along, browsing the aisles, Brandon, Harper, Emerson, and me. And the costume-guy. We marveled at how many different costumes they could make for women that basically consisted of thigh-high stockings and something strapless up top.

Suddenly, costume-man stops in the aisle. Something in the aisle has caught his eye. We follow his gaze to see a pair of ladies panties in the floor. A pair of black, lacy ladies panties. Not really something practical, more like something that resembled the much more "adult" costumes in the other room of the costume store.

"Um, are these yours?" he says as he picks up the corner of the undies by his fingertips.

"No." I replied. Of course not.

"Woah! Maybe they're from one of the costumes. Maybe they were left in the dressing room or something!" my husband suggests.

"Hey, Misty! Check out what I found on the floor just now!" Costume-store-girl is not going to believe this.

Then I squint my eyes a little, and realize the object between his fingertips looks a little...familiar. My mind frantically goes back to those hurried moments of riffling through the laundry pile moments before leaving the house, and throwing on the black tank top before rushing out the door. Apparently, the little black tank top had a little black buddy static-clinging along for errand day, determined to make their costume-store debut to a slightly larger audience than they were accustomed to. I made a mental note to promptly fold and put away all clean laundry immediately from this day forward.

I started hyperventilating and sweating a little bit, as the costume-store guy walked away with my undies firmly in his grasp, saying a little prayer that my obvious distressed state would not reveal the true ownership of the surprise visitor. We continued to shop for a few more minutes, finally selecting just the right fake blood for Brandon's latest project, as my husband chatted to the oh-so-helpful employee/ underwear-finder about our church and our Halloween plans. To my credit, I made it all the way back to the van without vomiting. I debated never telling Brandon that the panties were mine, but then I realized I haven't blogged about anything other than qtips and football players in a while, and it's been even longer than that since I've used the internet to horrify my grandmother.

Please, please tell me that these things do not only happen to me. Please tell me that you, too, have unintentionally left a pair of saucy underwear in the costume store for an employee to find next to you and your small children while he was discussing fake blood options with your husband, the local youth minister.

Happens to everyone. Right?