Would you like some tits with that?

Have you ever gotten to work and realized that the outfit you put on, that was just fine at home, was wholly unacceptable for work? Whether it was uncomfortable, or too revealing, or needed a repair that you had forgotten about in your mad dash to get out the door in time? Maybe your underwear or sock had a newly discovered hole, or was just a bit too tight. Or itchy. Or lumpy.

I can't be the only one.

I have this dress, you see. I love it. Designed and made by a friend, it is flattering and just the right length. But. It has a serious problem. The top falls down if I reach forward. The straps slip right off my shoulders and before you can say howdy neighbor, you've gotten a full frontal flash that would make a sailor blush.

So I bought a cardigan. And I don't wear the dress without the cardigan. Because I can't. I'm no fool - no one wants to see my tits while they are trying to eat.

Besides, they look much better strapped in and covered up. "Daffodil Campbell: Keeping the mystery alive since I weaned my kids". You're welcome.

Last night I went to work in my beloved dress, and a new, super push-up bra. Push-up as in, my boobs were up around my neck. It's a great bra - which makes the dress even less appropriate, but oh-so-flattering.

If you like that sort of thing.

So I put on my trusty cardigan and headed out the door. Conservative, yet sexy. Think "naughty librarian". The cardigan kept coming unbuttoned in the car, but I figured it was just because of the seat belt.

It was not.

That sweater came unbuttoned over and over and OVER again. All night long. I was mortified.Throughout the entire night, I had return to the kitchen in a rush to haul up and re-arrange my dress to cover the cleavage, much to the amusement of the chefs, who had side bets going on which table I was going to full monty. I took to approaching each table clutching a menu to my chest. And instead of bending over to put a plate down on the table, I would bend my knees and try not to reach too far lest a shoulder strap slip and my tattoo fly free.

But it was almost impossible to avoid. Much to my dismay, and the entertainment and/or dismay of some of my customers. Some of them were unable to maintain eye contact. Some stared at their menu while we spoke. Some just gave up the pretenses and stared directly at my chest. Others tried to guess what it said based on the few letters that were revealed before I could race back to the kitchen and re-adjust.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my tattoo. And I wouldn't have put it in that particular location if I didn't expect people to look at it. It sure is eye-catching. My concern was only for the nice people who came to enjoy the food - not my cleavage. I was waiting for someone to say something. In my paranoid state, I just knew someone was going to say something.

"We had such a lovely dinner, and you were so charming, and I thank you so much for your lovely service but I had to tell the owner that it was such a shame, we were sitting there having a nice meal, and then..."
Oh god. What. And then WHAT??? Oh, don't tell me. I know. It's awful. Terrible.
"Then the music started and it was so loud, you couldn't hear anything."
Whew.