The (under) Wire

This week's 'Ridiculous Encounter of the Abi-kind' occurred in a very important meeting for work.

Picture the scene: several key members of the executive committee (i.e they've been here forever, they know what the hell they're doing there and what the hell they're talking about) and me (i.e I'm new, I know fack-all about what I'm doing there and fack-all about what I'm talking about, have a real feeling of dread that my lack of knowledge is about to be discovered, yet have an incredible necklace on so am confident I can get away with blank stares, pen tapping and the odd nod).

Exec Member 1: So with that in mind, Abi do you think you could look into that for us and report back at the next Exec meeting?

Me: [Blank Stare, Gaze at Notepad, Flick through diary] Yes, I don't see that being a problem at all

Exec Member 1: Great. Thank you.

Exec Member 2 [looking very distracted and spending quite a lot of time looking at previously mentioned incredible necklace]: Yes. Sorry what was the date of the next meeting? Look, Abi I'm sorry I know it looks like I'm looking at your breasts and I'm not, I'm not - but what exactly is that poking out?

Me: [Blank stare becomes stare of horror, accompanied by hot red heat creeping into face, reluctantly look down to my cleavage thinking 'oh my god, this could be anything - last night's tea, a sock, one of Arlo's nappies, a pen I'd lost, the telly control, oh jesu christo what the hell is it going to be?!??!?!?!?']: Um, actually, it's uh, it's my uh [grapples with many options of what I could pretend the sight before me actually was - 'can I get away with pretending it's some sort of hands free microphone type thing?'] it's the underwire from my bra. I'm so sorry.....


THANK YOU BRA. THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH.

Sometimes, it's bloody embarrassing being me. Something tells me it wouldn't quite have been so bad if I hadn't followed up this total disaster by the fact that my TWAT of a workmate locked me out of my office with all of my personal belongings inside - having to go back to the exec meeting with head hanging low to ask if I could borrow £1.20 so I could get the bus home.

I try to be classy, I really do. I guess I'm just not cut out for that. Oh well.....