Getting dressed in the dark is never advisable, especially when you’re rushing and your vision isn’t what it used to be. At 42, my eyesight isn’t great, and apparently, my adherence to household rules has also faded. We have a few simple rules, one of which is that clothes need to be worn right side out—otherwise, they come back folded inside out. With four kids, I simply don’t have the time for that nonsense. Naturally, I discovered the hard way that I don’t always follow my own guidelines.
I was in a rush—as usual. Most days, I drop my kids off in my pajamas, but this particular morning necessitated a real outfit because I had a packed schedule and no time for backtracking. My husband enjoys his sleep, so I try not to disturb him with too much light. I dashed into the closet, grabbed my yoga pants (which, let’s be honest, are never actually used for yoga) and a shirt, and hurried to the kitchen to make breakfast.
Remember, I have four kids? I interacted with all of them that morning, running back and forth between the family room and kitchen numerous times while they watched my every move. When it was time to leave, they were right there, behind and in front of me. They looked directly at me. Several times. Keep that in mind.
I dropped off my sons at school and took my daughter to preschool. After walking her to the door and chatting with the teacher, I turned around to leave, blissfully unaware of my fashion faux pas with six people already having had a clear view of my backside.
My next stop was Target. I had a long shopping list, so I took my time, feeling sociable that day. Since smiles are hidden by masks, I greeted strangers instead. They returned the pleasantries, some passing me from the front and others from behind. I have to assume that at least a dozen people caught a glimpse of my inside-out pants as they walked by. Who knows how many more were just lingering in the aisles?
Then it was off to Sam’s Club, where they check you in at the entrance. I definitely spoke to one person there. After a quick bathroom break, I washed my hands and took a moment to check myself out in the mirror. I looked pretty good—except for the fact that my pants were inside out! Oh, wonderful!
I contemplated going back into the stall to fix it, but then thought, why not see how long it takes for someone to say something? I strutted out there, proudly displaying my size 10/12 and the exposed seams. Now, it became a social experiment: who would be brave enough to tell me? Spoiler alert: not a single person did!
I decided to be extra friendly, making small talk with everyone I met. Even if they didn’t notice the back, surely the glaring inner seams were hard to miss? I mean, come on. I once noticed a guy in front of me at a cave we explored who had his shirt on inside out, but I didn’t say anything because he rudely pushed my mother aside to get in first. So let him be embarrassed. But me? An overworked mom? Surely someone could help a gal out!
Why do we hesitate to point out someone’s wardrobe malfunction? Is it like the Bystander Effect, where people stand by and do nothing while a crime occurs? I flashed my backside to the whole store, and yet nobody felt inclined to intervene. I can’t imagine anyone would be offended if you brought it to their attention—embarrassed, maybe, but angry? No way.
I returned home with my pants still inside out and asked my husband what he thought of them. I claimed they were new but was unsure about the fit. I did a little spin, pausing to let him see the back. Nothing! Not a single word. I suppose I can chalk it up to him not caring and saying I look good in anything. But even when I pointed it out, he just laughed, just as I’m sure all those shoppers had done behind my back!
Look, I don’t have much shame left; that went out the window when my mom accidentally posted a picture of me on Facebook minutes after I gave birth—me in the background looking like I was about to pass out. You can’t shock me after that. I’ve been through therapy; I’m fine. But I know there are others out there who want to be told if something is amiss.
I promise, if I see you with a piece of underwear stuck to the back of your shirt due to static cling, I’ll let you know. I’ll never let a tag go untucked again, and I vow to point out any inside-out garments I see. Unless, of course, you’re an elderly person being rude—then, you’re on your own.
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Summary
In a humorous recounting, a mother of four shares her experience of unknowingly wearing her pants inside out all day without anyone pointing it out. From school drop-offs to shopping, she navigates her day while reflecting on the social dynamics of wardrobe malfunctions and the awkwardness of addressing them. Ultimately, she decides to embrace the embarrassment and use it as a lesson in kindness for others.