You know how, when you're about to have an important meeting with someone -- professional or otherwise -- you deliberate over what to wear?
And then, you're all proud of yourself for selecting your outfit? It's sharp, it's comfortable, it's hip but it's not trying too hard?
Let's say you take your cute outfit out to breakfast, and you're feeling good. You're about to have a meeting with oh, say, a national television producer. Let's say you finish up breakfast, march out to Madison Avenue in New York, and now, you are on your way. Your Confidence Outfit and you.
Let's say people start looking you up and down.
You walk a block. Two blocks. Five. It seems that everywhere you go, people can't stop gawking at you.
"Wow," you think. "I knew this ensemble was a winner, but apparently I've outdone myself."
Let's say you walk into the building of your meeting, and because it is a New York tower, you must check in with security at the lobby. The security guard, he also can't help but notice your clothing.
At this point you're beginning to feel a little funny, what with all this ogling, but hey. You signed up for the attention. You're looking pretty fly, girl.
Let's say you walk into a crowded elevator, and by now, you've simply gotten used to the stares. You graciously nod back. But then the elevator door opens, and right before your meeting, you decide: "I'm going to hit the ladies' room, just to make sure there's nothing in my teeth."
You walk in.
There is a mirror.
The image back reveals something far more disconcerting than food in the teeth.
Instead, the ENTIRE FRONT OF YOUR DRESS IS TUCKED UP INTO YOUR PANTY HOSE.
You are face-to-face with your underwear, tiny, "summertime" underwear. The hose are sheer. There's little left to the imagination.
You start back in horror, because Madison Avenue just saw your vagina.
This is how I began my day on Thursday, while on a work trip to New York. But it's ok, because I had these pictures to come home to -- and the following are how I shall remember my visit. Rather than displaying my crotch for the world.
Doesn't is seem that no matter the city, Anthropologie is the most meticulously designed store, ever? My sister-in-law is a window and store designer for Anthropologie, and I was honestly slack-jawed when I visited her store in Dallas.
UPDATE (6/2/11): The original title of this post used a ... different word for "lady bits." Not a profane word. The anatomical word.
But then, I woke in the middle of the night having a nightmare that I got fired for posting that word on my blog, so I changed it. Harumph.
I'm a little sad to see it go. I got stopped on the street after that post, just for using the v-word! It made me want to go audition for the nearest Vagina Monologues performance and vent about it. Oh well.