Hung out at the bus stop today and chatted with a lovely lady about the neighbourhood and the transit system while we awaited the arrival of the bus.
Then I took the streetcar downtown to see the A-Team, but the streetcar didn't quite make it to the stop I needed because of an accident that shut down its lane, so I ended up having to get off the car and high-tail it to the theatre about 1/2 an hour away to catch the showing I wanted to see.
Made it in enough time to quickly visit the ladies room before settling into my seat. I love seeing movies on weekdays where most others are at work or school. Its like my own private showing. I was getting happier by the moment once the movie started cuz it was really so very fun. About half an hour into it, suddenly we were at the end and the mission was almost all done. The movie had skipped about an hour. So I and a handful of others walked out and management gave us two free passes AND let us into another showing of the movie where we could watch the movie almost from the start all over again. Another quick trip to the ladies room (my bladder doesn't play well with others), and I settled into the second theatre to watch the movie a second time.
Happy once more. Not even all that bothered by the inconvenience. Then, as I rearrange my position in the seat, I feel something on the edge of my shirt. What is this ... the tag? Why's the cleaning instruction tag on the outside of my -- OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD MY SHIRT IS ON INSIDE OUT! My shirt with the embroidery on the chest has been clearly showing the wrong side of the pattern, complete with random thread ends, in addition to the wrong side of the seams, and the large pattern stamp with material details on the back of the collar. All day. While chatting with the lady at the bus stop. While sitting on the street car. While walking to the theatre complex. While buying a ticket and while mingling with others when the movie messed up, back to customer service to exchange my ticket for a different theatre and TWO trips to the ladies room -- which yes, have mirrors!
On a scale of one to ten, I'd say the embarrassment was a six. Because people had to have noticed. But no one mentioned it to me, so maybe they didn't notice. Or if they did notice, they thought I did it on purpose; like I was one of the ladies in Cosmo that does random nutso things in public in order to report in the next issue on how people reacted.
Yeah ... yeah that's what I was doing. A sociological experiment. For a widely-read woman's magazine. Oh, you all failed by the way.