It’s Not What You Think

Two weeks ago, I received an invitation for my very first ever parent-teacher conference. Determined to do this right, I prepared like no mother has ever prepared for such a thing. I planned my outfit and wrote down questions, making sure I would make the right impression.

So when Sam and I entered the school this morning, I didn’t walk – I strutted. I was ready. I came prepared. I looked the part. And then…


That distinct sound of fabric ripping, and a faint sensation of elastic bouncing off skin. At first, I couldn’t pinpoint what happened. Then I realized my breasts felt oddly… Free.

My bra gave up on me.


I made a B-line for the restroom and ran towards the mirror, leaving a confused looking Sam in the hallway.

‘ACK!’ I screeched as soon as I caught my reflection. Apparently my bra had split right down the middle, leaving me looking like I had four boobs – two in the front and one under each armpit.

Definitely not the look I was going for.

I dashed into one of the stalls, contorting my body into a pretzel while at the same time making sure I wouldn’t make contact with any of the surfaces while zipping down my dress. I assessed the damage and decided my bra was Beyond Repair. So I shrugged it off and disposed it in a cookie monster bin, cursing.

‘This is so not what I need right now.’ I muttered under my breath.

I hoisted my dress back up and clocked in some more pretzel time zipping it up. Only it didn’t. It wouldn’t zip up! A panicky sound escaped my throat as I danced around, trying to pull up the zipper while praying frantically to anyone who would listen.

God, are you there? He wasn’t. Jesus, help me! Jesus was busy. Mary, then. Come on, woman. Help a sister out! I can’t go to my first parent-teacher conference with my dress hanging open! You had a son, you must understand! Nothing.

I sighed the sigh of a defeated woman. Then I dialed up my husband.

‘I can’t get my dress back on. The zipper is stuck. HELP ME!’ I whispered frantically into the phone.

Not two seconds later he was there, looking even more confused than before.

‘Do I want to know why you took off your dress?’ He asked with only the slightest of smirks  after I dragged him into the stall.

‘Just hurry up!’ I hissed. ‘We got like five minutes.’

‘Okay, alright. Turn around.’


‘Hey, where’s your bra?’

‘Will you just shut up and do it!’

‘Hold on… just let me… There!’ He pulled the zipper so hard that I lost my balance and banged against the door, causing us both to burst out giggling.

‘Sorry.’ He chuckled.

‘No worries. Is it up? Are you done?’


We fell out of the stall laughing…

… only to notice a bag standing on the ground in the stall next to the one we were just in.

Oh, God.

I don’t even want to know what that woman thought she heard.

Bad luck, I have plenty of it.

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