Embarrassed in Church
This is a story about Charlie, who was my teenage crush, and how I ensured he would never, ever, ever ask me out.
Some of you probably don't know that I am a pretty devout Christian. I'm not a bible-thumper, but I am faithful. It's personal for me -- I'd never deign to dictate someone else's spirituality. We all have our own spiritual exploration to do.
Well, when I was 18, I was very much like I am now -- cheery and exuberant. The only difference was that I had a wide-eyed naivete as well, and I always crushed on the guy I could never have. That year, there was a young man at our church named Charlie, and I thought he was the grooviest of the groovy. I'd breathlessly talk with him, and he was always quite kind. He played guitar, which really made me melt, and every Sunday I'd sit there, heart thumping, as he played and sang.
One magical Sunday, I put on my finest outfit -- a really pretty grey sweater, some nice pants, yada yada, and really put an effort into looking good. That was going to be the Sunday I made my move on Charlie. After church, we were standing in the foyer, and we talked. I noticed that Charlie kept checking out... my boobs. I was honestly excited about that, because he'd never looked below my eyes before that. I was chalking it up as a victory. The conversation went on, and the longer it did, the more he stared at my chest. Finally, sufficiently convinced that success was imminent, I said goodbye and headed to my car.
When I rounded the corner outside and was out of sight, I leaned against the building and clasped my hands to my chest in a moment of absolute puppy-love-fueled rapture. And at that moment... I asked myself what the heck that pointy thing on my sweater was.
I looked down.
There, much to my absolute HORROR, was about 3 inches of my bra's underwire poking through my sweater, its little white-tipped head was saying hello to the world, and I realized in that terrible moment why Charlie was obsessed with my rack. Suffice it to say... Charlie and I were never a "thing".
Why can't undergarments COOPERATE?!
Some of you probably don't know that I am a pretty devout Christian. I'm not a bible-thumper, but I am faithful. It's personal for me -- I'd never deign to dictate someone else's spirituality. We all have our own spiritual exploration to do.
Well, when I was 18, I was very much like I am now -- cheery and exuberant. The only difference was that I had a wide-eyed naivete as well, and I always crushed on the guy I could never have. That year, there was a young man at our church named Charlie, and I thought he was the grooviest of the groovy. I'd breathlessly talk with him, and he was always quite kind. He played guitar, which really made me melt, and every Sunday I'd sit there, heart thumping, as he played and sang.
One magical Sunday, I put on my finest outfit -- a really pretty grey sweater, some nice pants, yada yada, and really put an effort into looking good. That was going to be the Sunday I made my move on Charlie. After church, we were standing in the foyer, and we talked. I noticed that Charlie kept checking out... my boobs. I was honestly excited about that, because he'd never looked below my eyes before that. I was chalking it up as a victory. The conversation went on, and the longer it did, the more he stared at my chest. Finally, sufficiently convinced that success was imminent, I said goodbye and headed to my car.
When I rounded the corner outside and was out of sight, I leaned against the building and clasped my hands to my chest in a moment of absolute puppy-love-fueled rapture. And at that moment... I asked myself what the heck that pointy thing on my sweater was.
I looked down.
There, much to my absolute HORROR, was about 3 inches of my bra's underwire poking through my sweater, its little white-tipped head was saying hello to the world, and I realized in that terrible moment why Charlie was obsessed with my rack. Suffice it to say... Charlie and I were never a "thing".
Why can't undergarments COOPERATE?!