I was really on my game Wednesday morning. Before even leaving the house, I realized that I had forgotten the laptop I would need to check work emails while on jury duty and stay generally in touch with the world. (Not to mention keep me from dying from boredom while on long taxpayer-subsidized courthouse lunch break)

I am proud to say that I managed to coax myself out of bed and keep to my to go-workout-at-the-gym-before-leaving-for-court plan. I had tossed everything I would need for the day into my gym bag in the trunk of my car. Everything, that is, except for underwear...and a bra. This was not good. But of course, this is typical behavior for your average slob. I have pairs upon pairs of mint condition tennis shoes I've purchased on days that I've forgotten to bring them to the gym. Tennis shoes are rather important if you plan to work out, unless you're willing to brave the treadmill in pumps. ( I happen to be lucky. My gym is located next door to a shoe store)

It is not, however, located next to a lingerie store. And I'll let you in on a little known secret about women. Forgetting to bring underwear is not the worst thing in the world (nobody has to know...an it provides a lovely breeze), but a bra is absolutely indispensable. That is, of course, unless you've been blessed with perky little AA mosquito bites. Needless to say, that is not the case with me.

As I've said before, being a slob is both my blessing and my curse, so I knew there was still a chance I could save myself from certain humiliation. My car's trunk, back seat, and any and all satchels, boxes, and purses therein offer, at any one time, a virtual smorgasbord of random items, some of which may be used or clean underwear and bras.

I double checked my gym bag for provisions, and eureka! Miraculously, there was a random pair of undies floating around and available for use. And even better...they were clean! Yay! Now I wouldn't feel like an undercover hooker, permanently open for business, but I was still sans bra.

I immediately tried to block out the images of Flopsy and Topsy bouncing around freely to the delight of every bailiff, lawyer, and traffic violator at the LA Metropolitan Courthouse. There would really be no way to fake it unless I was willing to walk around with my arms crossed like an old school rapper all day. I couldn't even bank on my usually procedure of purchasing a new one. The only bra I could buy at the gym would be a hot pink spandex sports bra which would stick out under my v-neck sweater, making me look like I were about to leap out of the jury box and pump out a few aerobic high kicks at any moment.

I closed the trunk and began my defeated walk toward the gym, trying to figure out how I could manage to squeeze in a trip to Target before I was due at court. Then a memory struck me like a splinter that stops you in your tracks while performing sashays across a wood floor. I had this strange feeling that I had an extra bra inexplicably hidden in the book bag I use to hold blog research materials. (What? You didn't know that writing this takes thorough research?) To my exuberant surprise, I was right!

I snatched up my reward and walked proudly toward the gym, feeling thankful that my cluttered, slovenly ways had saved me once again. Oh and by the way, my boobs looked fabulous all morning. Thanks for asking!

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