I would estimate that I spend at least 73% of my life wearing an all-in-one, be it a playsuit, jumpsuit or onesie. I can’t get enough of them…there was even a onesie party at my hen do (that’s a bachelooooorette pardy if you’re reading this in the land of the free and the home of the brave).
Top marks go to my friend (right) who took the onesie theme and ran with it, straight into an episode of Power Rangers
The only thing that’s annoying about the jumpsuit/playsuit/onesie family is that wearing one can make a trip to the loo mean you basically have to get almost entirely nakid.
Last night I was at an event and popped to the ladies to powder my nose. I was wearing a jumpsuit (obvs) so it was a slight undressing/redressing palava.
The toilets were deserted so I emerged from the cubicle – and I don’t quite know why I did this – with my jumpsuit only pulled up halfway, round my waist, and my bra brazenly on show like it was on some kind of Big Bra Day Out.
It was of course at that very minute that another girl came into the loos…given that they were public and not my personal en suite.
She looked at me and my bra like “what you DOING?!”
This fully-clothed lass stopped in the doorway and just stared at me for what felt like ages. It was a rather strong confused face/evil eye hybrid. Perhaps she was just well jel of my fabulous brassiere.
I smiled at her and then did what can only be described as an MJ moonwalk, backwards into the cubicle I had come from to get dressed properly.
Would you like a 2-for-1 bra story blog deal? Don’t say I never treat you. I have another and shall move seamlessly (pun intended) onto it now.
At my old job – the one where I was an accidental sex pest – I was in work one fine afternoon and started to feel rather warm.
So far, so normal.
I took off my jumper; underneath I was wearing one of those vest tops with an in-built little boob-shelf of support.
Q. Do you ever completely zone out and forget where you are?
I thought “Oh, I’m wearing one of those vest tops with an in-built little boob-shelf of support, I don’t need my bra on too”.
I’ll grant you it’s a rather weird thought, but that’s the thought my brain had.
I had basically COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN I was at work. I thought for a weird moment that I was just at home, on me own, on me sofa, taking off me bra in peace.
So I pulled my jumper off over my head, unhooked my bra and pulled it out from my vest top, holding it aloft in one smooth, well-practiced move.
Then my arm remained frozen in horror above my head as I heard the voice of my head of department, shouting over the shocked silence and across the large OPEN PLAN office:
I was brought crashing back into reality: a reality where I was sat in the middle of a large group of professionals with countless, speechless faces looking straight at me, while I sat at my desk with one arm waving in the air, in mid-bra-whip-off.
Like a little bra-less Dido
Naturally my dear colleagues didn’t let me forget that one in a hurry. For a few weeks after, it was all: “How come your bra is still on today?! It’s 3pm!”.