Embarrassment

Ah my most embarrassing moment, it is hard to pick just one. When I look back to some of the most humiliating times in my life, aside from the epic slip in the mall circa 1985 which almost sent my girlfriend into convulsions from laughing so hard, I find that my most embarrassing times have something to do with my panties. I have never been a jeans and sneakers kind of gal and have lived most of my life in sundresses and skirts which may account for the fact that out of three boys each one has had a fascination at one time or the other with lifting up my dress and watching me shriek in horror. My oldest son in particular around the age of 5 went through this stage. It happened first at a family gathering in a room full of people then at a Macys. I learned to pick up on his cues, he would usually circle around me once or twice with a coy look on his face, that’s how I knew it was coming. He would reach for the hem with faster than lightening speed and before I knew it I was standing there red faced in a panic afraid to look down for fear of what I was wearing down below.. (please god let this not be a spanx day). I learned pretty quick how to block these random attacks with the precision and skill of a taekwondo expert and eventually he cooled it, that is until the day I realized he was just sitting, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. His brother was just born three days prior. Like many moms straight out of the hospital I was operating in a state of virtual unconsciousness, a creature of the night at the mercy of a newborn who wanted to eat every three hours. My attire consisted of nursing bras and whatever nightgowns I could throw over my head which would likely  be ruined less than 24 hrs later. I was enjoying a relaxing moment, sleeping newborn in my arms watching the Young & The Restless (those were the days) when the door bell rings. I adjust the baby in my arms and shuffle off to answer to the UPS man standing there with a package he needs to have signed for. Then HE appears running excitedly for the door, a grin from ear to ear hiding his little devil horns behind a weft of golden hair. As I am pulling the balancing act of holding an infant and trying  to sign my name with two fingers that’s when it happens. He looks at me I look at him our eyes meet for a second and then it is all in slow motion from there. He lifts up my nightgown and not a little lift either, more like a yank. One last hurrah for the kid who finally wants to make it known, he got the last word ..he got me. My response time was delayed I don’t notice the nightgown up until I look up at the red faced delivery driver, then I hear wild laughter, that’s when I look down. I have no free hands I wiggle back and forth try to kick him out of the way as he’s still holding my dress up. I spin around finally free from his grasp  I mumble an apology to the UPS guy and begin to consider torture as an acceptable means of punishment for a 5 year old. This must have been the jewel in his crown, catching me off guard fresh from having a baby, muscles lax, granny panties because that’s all that would fit. Needless to say I was mortified and he took off running for his life. The poor old UPS driver, I think he may have been even more embarrassed than I. Thank god my oldest who was the worst offender grew out of this stage, I am sure he was just vying for my attention or thought it funny to see my reaction. At least I was able to see it coming, much unlike my youngest son who is 5 who apparently likes to get behind me and lift up my dress from behind and cover his face, on a busy playground while I unsuspectingly talk to his teacher for god knows how long before I notice I am mooning the other children and their parents.