Why Are Those People Staring at Me?

One day, I decided to dress up for work. Navy business suit with a red sleeveless sweater underneath and conservative navy pumps for a professional look.
During the day, however, I felt that people were staring. Maybe I was being paranoid; I didn't quite know. A visitor at work looked at me funny. At lunch, folks seemed to gaze at me with funny looks on their faces. I knew my old suit wasn't a perfect fit as in "tailor-made" but I didn't think it was so obviously a misfit. I kept checking; there were no rips or tears or spilled food, as far as I could tell. Throughout the day, the looks continued. Maybe it was my imagination.
After a while, though, I started to put my hand into my jacket pocket and - voila! I knew what had been wrong all day. Here's the story:
My ex-mother-in-law (the first one) told me to always wear matching underwear and nice lingerie. Well, I never could sleep in "nice" lingerie but I have tried to wear the matching stuff. This particular morning, after showering, I decided to wear bright turquoise underwear. I was running late and, after putting on the bra, couldn't find the turquoise panties. So, after searching a little, I just put on the regular whites.
As I was rushing out of the house, I spotted the turquoise panties on the floor of the laundry room. Perhaps I had dropped them when unloading the dryer. Whatever. Anyway, I picked them up and put them in my jacket pocket. That was a mistake. Apparently they didn't go all the way into the jacket pocket. Most of the day, it seems the panties hung out of my jacket pocket -- at work, at lunch, everywhere.
So, little Miss Professional, in the navy suit with navy pumps, walked around all day with lacy turquoise panties hanging out of the jacket pocket.
Upon discovery of the pocketed panties, I immediately took those things out of my pocket and stuffed 'em down into my pocketbook.
Later, at the grocery store, when I went to get my checkbook out to write a check, guess what came out of my pocketbook with my checkbook?

Copyright 2008 Sherry Martschink