Oh the indignity...

 I am awake before my alarm clock goes off. I am energized. I am giddy. It is Friday.
On Friday's I feel like I can do anything. I am invincible.

Added bonus?
Why yes, please...
Today is a half day at work.

Hooray!

I shower and quickly dress. This morning the usual mental anguish and acrobatics that I am forced to endure while attempting to put on and position "the dreaded pantyhose" over "miss baby cakes" isn't nearly as exhausting thanks to a little extravagant splurge necessary purchase I managed to make the night before.

Yes, thanks to the invention of maternity hose, I now can pull those suckers up with ease. 
I do not have to pull a hammy.
I do not have to wonder if I am cramping baby's style.
I do not have to constantly fight the dreaded "roll down."
They are up... and they are up to stay.

FANTASTIC!  

I have my bowl of Crunchy Raisin Bran cereal, while I check the weather.
Nothing on the horizon that I can't live with.
This morning it doesn't even bother me that Kirk is still snoozing soundly asleep in bed while I am awake.
He is even sort of adorable when he sleeps. Sort of.

I am out the door and off to work!
It is a beautiful sunshiny day. Glorious! Did I mention that it is Friday, and a half day?
I look down to see if I truly have a happy bounce in my step or if it is just my imagination...
And. then. the. trouble. begins.

My fabulous pantyhose are R.E.D.
Well, reddish.
What in the world? The package said "nude" - whose nude legs were they talking about?
Not mine.
So now my legs, normally a sickly shade of whitish peach, are a gruesome shade of watered down barn red. Love it not.

BUT it IS Friday, and I only HAVE to wear them for FOUR hours.
I'll live.

I continue walking. Bouncy stride altered only slightly.
I nearly make it up the old stone steps, when suddenly I feel a little draft...
I investigate and find that my zipper is busted.
Nice.
I pick up my stride towards the office optimistically thinking, "maybe I can fix it..."
However, once in the office, I  find, upon further inspection, that I can not fix it.
I head back home to change.

Down the Administration building staircase, out the door, across main campus, and down the old stone steps I go holding tightly to my skirt, shirt and sweater so that some quantity of decency can be maintained.
 
As I step up on the curb approaching THE President's house, my tight grasp of my skirt, shirt and sweater trio turns duet rather unexpectedly and without hesitation, my skirt makes a rapid decent towards the sidewalk!

Good morning, Channing Street. Did someone 

order the "Moons Over My Hammy"? 

Um, no thanks...

I managed to grab my skirt mid knee and yank it up.
The bright side?
My face now matches my legs.

Oh the indignity....