Possibly my most embarrassing moment ever.

Years ago I walked in the Chicago Marathon. The only walkers permitted were those willing to fund-raise for juvenile leukemia.  I signed on with three friends and we made it our job to prepare by walking mile after sweaty mile.  Naturally, I got into darn good shape.

The evening before the marathon my husband hired a car to ferry me I to the city.  We were staying at the Men’s Athletic Club, a jazzy joint one of my friend’s husbands belonged to.

After I climbed out of the car and leaned into the back seat to pull out my small suitcase, I was surprised the driver kept me talking on the curb.  I thought, “What a nice friendly fellow.”

Finally, I entered the hotel.  The lobby was packed with men of all sizes and stripes.  As I strolled past the reception desk all those male eyes were riveted on me.   The millions of miles walking had paid off.  I clearly looked smoking hot!

To get to my room, I needed to ascend a long open winding staircase.  Enjoying the attention I slowed my pace, swung my hips, sashayed those steps and relished the moment.

Upon arriving I called my friends.  While on the phone I turned to the full-length mirror intending to dwell on the amazing, wondrous beauty of me.

That’s when I saw the hem of my dress was tucked firmly into the waistband of my pantyhose.  And I wasn’t wearing any underpants.  

Sigh.  I had to go back through that lobby to meet my buddies.  That was a radically different walk….

It’s funnier when looking at it through my rear view mirror.  That night, not so much.