Every woman needs an ego fix once in a while. Not that our gender is in any way vain or overly needy but for the sheer pleasure of being on the receiving end of a compliment as often, wherever, and whenever they pop up. It just does a body good. However, I’ve learned that, as I age gracefully (fingers crossed), a compliment can go awry and create a very uncomfortable situation for the receiver, the giver and those that were privy to it.
It was a triple digit day and one where the relative humidity created a muggy, steam-room feeling outside. I have become very sensitive to humidity over the years and, on this particular day, was hoping to rely on the air outside to get rid of the moisture that was accumulating in multiple areas (crevices) of my body. No such luck, as the air was totally saturated with water vapor, indicating the possibility of an afternoon rain, and I knew the classroom swamp coolers would not work efficiently on a day like that – go figure. My schedule was slammed, and I knew, too, that I would be traveling from one sticky, humid classroom to another to observe teachers – all doors opening to the outside. The minute I arrived on the school’s campus, I felt that I was in for one of those can’t-wait-to-get-home-and-change-my-clothes day. Yippee!
My inappropriate choice of clothing for work that day (black dress pants and a 100% polyester button down blouse) had zero – zip ability to absorb the trickles of perspiration (okay – sweat!) that were rolling down both my front and backside. My upper lip and forehead glistened with tiny beads of sweat that I wiped off, from time to time, with a Kleenex. I felt like a soggy noodle that had been overcooked and was beginning to disintegrate. “I must not look that bad,” I thought to myself, as passersby (both students and staff members) politely smiled and engaged me in brief niceties. I kept telling myself that, eventually, my internal temperature gauge would regulate my body and I would begin to cool off. Uh, no! That did not happen!
Two hours into my day, I really needed a deodorant touch up, fresh bra and panties and a new swipe of eyeliner. It is truly amazing how quickly I went from looking clean and kempt to frumpy and disheveled. I seriously wanted to leave for the day – even though it was only 10:15 A.M.! I wished for one sweet comment – from anyone – that would help me regain a level (even a low one) of confidence.
I waltzed into a kindergarten teacher’s classroom and began to fan myself with my notepad. The students were busy gluing geometric shapes onto paper. I stood for a moment trying to find a nearby Kleenex box, as sweat trickled down between my breasties. I locked eyes on the tissue box and headed to it without delay. I grabbed a couple and headed to the orange table and sat down in a vacant chair across from a young boy (let me call him Jon). While looking down at Jon’s paper, and thinking how typically messy it was for a kid his age, I blotted my chest. Lo and behold, the top bottom of my blouse came unfastened (probably due to me diving as far as I could down the front of my shirt to soak up the sweat). I did not notice . . . right away.
My eyes, focused on Jon’s geometric disaster-piece, suddenly became transfixed on Jon’s eyes – that were not looking into mine but at my left-hand that was moving up and down just inside my opened blouse. Suddenly, he begins to sing a Shaggy song to me. “Hey, sexy lady, I like your flow. Your body’s bangin’, out of control! You put it on me (that’s right), ceilin’ to floor. Make me scream and beg for more.” His little shoulders were moving up and down and his eyes, finally, looked into mine. I looked away quickly and around the room to see if anyone else had heard/witnessed him singing this to me. Yup! The teacher and her classroom aide were trying to suppress their laughing – tears welling up in their eyes. Neither could look at me without cracking up. Just great!
My hand shot out from the front of my blouse and, suddenly realizing that the button had come undone, buttoned it back up quickly. I looked back at Jon who was smiling at me. He told me that I looked really pretty and that he really, really liked my shirt. What young sex maniac (no matter the age) wouldn’t like to see a woman blotting her chest with her blouse opened at the top? Can’t even imagine who or what is influencing him at home. I literally blushed – not finding any words to say except, “Thank you!” What the . . . I sat there for a few minutes before getting up and making my way back outside – where for obvious reasons it was much cooler.