the sunday morning peep show

I was wearing this lil number the other day for church.

And I looked just like her. In fact, BETTER. Because I’m hawt like that after squeezing three babes out. {riiiggghhhhhttttt} Add like forty pounds, a cardigan, awkward shoes, and three children pulling on me in fifty different directions, and we’ve got it nailed. Anyway, this is the Sanur Dress from JCrew. On their site, it describes it as a beach cover up, (really, JCREW? I bought it at their outlet store and I thought it was the cutest lil jersey dress eva.) but apparently I’m a total redneck, because I wore a coverup to church. I was all, SUP, PREACHA! And I had my string bikini on underneath. With the strings exposed in all their glory. I can get away with jazz like that because I’m sleeping with the youth minister. {Am I allowed to say that? Probably not?}

exhibit aAnyway, I have such a love hate with JCrew. Does anyone else out there trying to feed an entire family feel the same way? I LOVE their clothes. One moment I’m lapping up their catalogues (I feel as if I should use the old school spelling in a cool accent) and the next I’m picking up my dislocated jaw off the floor from noting the price of their 800 dollar pair of boots. And in the meantime, they can’t seem to manage to brush their model’s hair. It’s like they’re on a budget or something. They all look totally strung out. Because if I put on Jcrew, I’m totally doing it right after I roll out of bed and shuffle out the door, sans makeup, and head to my day job. I also like to spend 80 smacks on the above plaid shirt, when I can pull off the same look with something that costs 20 from forever 21. And I’m not even touching the whole Vicky’s S conundrum. Thats another topic for another blawg.

But ALAS, I certainly digress.

Because this post isn’t about strung out models with bad hair. It’s about me, in the first dress…(but in all fairness, I do also have bad hair. noted.)

So I was wearing that dress. As a dress. And we had been at church. And I had NOT been body surfing in a string bikini while the preachaman passed snakes around. No. Our church isn’t THAT cool. (my parents are so relieved.) It was just a regular Sunday. And I was off to pick my children up from children’s worship. And there we were. Standing in the hallway. I had Malone in my arms, and I was glancing down at Emerson and Aiden and their pics of colorful bible characters with scribbled purple and orange faces. Generic Jesus totally ups the ante with his awesomely killer purple face, after all.

A friend walked by, and we started chatting about getting together for coffee. And there I was, lost in conversation, completely aloof to my children’s whereabouts or actions. Until I felt a strong breeze underneath my all too generously proportioned dress. I turned, to see Emerson giggling, and throwing my skirt above her head like a parachute. The toss ended at my thighs. The only problem was, Aiden, who KNEW better, had joined in the (apparently irresistible) minister’s children after party. And with his height, he had easily added a good foot to the Gymboree-esque fun. There I was, completely defenseless, turning haphazardly with occupied arms, trying to swat at control my completely out of control children who had suddenly decided to expose my DIMPLES complete with SAGGY OLD MATERNITY UNDERHOOTERS to the ENTIRE world. For those who got a complete eyeful by the time I brought my children under control: I am SO sorry. I was so completely mortified, I grabbed my demon children and asked the man passing by if “he saw that.” He laughed and kept walking, but I took a strange comfort in the fact that he must not have seen much since he seemed to avoid the urge to vomit into the diaper bag he was carrying.

I spent the rest of the morning resisting the urge to: a. track down the ten people who were standing in the hall that very moment, to make them promise me they saw absolutely nothing, and b. the urge to BEAT my children…those two definitely topped my things NOT to do list. Oh well. There’s nothing like a good peep show with Maternity garments unfurled in all their hideous glory to top off a Godly sermon.

Woot.

Sometimes I wonder if stuff like this happens to anyone else…or if I’ve been especially appointed to endure certain amounts of regularly induced humiliation.

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