Recently my husband and I made a quick (yet long) trip to Dallas for a photo shoot as honorees for DFW Style Daily’s best dressed 2013. I call the trip quick because we were only in Dallas for about twenty-six hours but feeling adventurous and curious about this MegaBus we’d been hearing so much about decided to use it as our mode of transport. I guess my Manager/Publicist was feeling extra “down with the people.” Who knows, but it was a very inexpensive option, and even more so if you calculate the cost per hour. I’ve taken more expensive cab rides from Ft. Lauderdale airport to downtown Miami. Wow is all I can say, because it took us about twenty hours to get there and another twenty to get back. Nearly two days’ worth of road travel with the most obnoxious group of strangers ever assembled. I’m talking about over the hill five foot tall muscle heads, older ladies with drawstring ponytails, females with blood red contact lenses, and a host and array of other odd characters. I couldn’t have chosen a more diverse group of individuals if it were my job and had been for the last decade. However, I digress. Finally making it to Dallas after moving from the metroplex two months prior was an interesting feeling. I missed it dearly but couldn’t wait to leave it again and head back to Chicago.
After calling for car service and arriving at our nameless, faceless, soulless hotel, who earned these titles because they charged us an additional fifty dollars for checking in early, although the room was ready and totally empty. Our twenty hour bus ride meant nothing to them. Anyway after getting to our room, my focus was on the plush king-size bed because I desperately needed a nap before we had to head to the Galleria Dallas for 4:00pm. I plop down and immediately fall asleep. Four hours later I wake up and call my mom in California because I knew she’d answer. During this entire time I feel like we had everything we needed for this trip, and maybe a bit more than was necessary.
Our alarm sounds and Lavarro wakes up and he shaves and showers and proceeds to get dressed. After he was done, it was my turn shave and shower, which also went smoothly. In case you’re wondering why he went first when I was already awake, it’s because I take 200 degree showers that make the walls drip sweat and set off smoke detectors. Lavarro only uses cold water and he’d have to wait too long for the heat to dissipate before he could even step foot beyond the doors threshold. Anyway, it was time to get dressed and then it hit me like a ton of bricks! The only underwear that I brought with me was the pair that I was wearing. How in the world did I manage to bring nearly every piece of jewelry from our safe, and like five pairs of jeans and two wool jackets, and my arsenal of Dior skincare and forget something as essential as underwear? If we were at the St. Francis in San Francisco I could have run down to Victoria Secret in the hotel’s lobby and purchased a pair of panties big enough to wear for the day. It wouldn’t have been the first time I was forced to wear women’s panties in a pinch. Perhaps one day I’ll tell you that entire story. Right now it’s between Lavarro, Della, God and I.
So in typical DJ fashion, I ask Lavarro if he’d packed underwear for me, and blamed him for not making sure I had not only an extra pair, but several extra pairs so that I could choose the pair that best fit my mood at the time of getting dressed. I pitch a fit, refuse to get dressed, and then I’m presented with a fresh pair of underwear by my better (more organized) half. You’d think this would have solved my dilemma, but it only presented yet another obstacle. You guys, these underwear were so freaking tiny and slutty that I got upset all over again. Why’d I have to wear the slut undies? Why couldn’t Lavarro trade with me and let me wear the full coverage pair? Seriously guys these things were super-duper slutty. I want to show you a picture but I don’t know if my husband would permit me to. I’ll do my best to describe them. Ok first, they’re powder blue and sheer. They’re super low-rise, and they have a black waist band and also a black band that goes from the front top of the waistband and down around the jewels and cups them and presents them in a way as if to say, “These are for you! Enjoy!” I was soooo humiliated because I was imagining having to get changed in front of strangers and then they’d judge me and think I was some back room, glory hole, freak of the week. This was such a tragedy.
Fortunately, we made it on time to the photo-shoot on time and no one ever knew my dirty little secret. I looked like a gentleman, and the photos perfectly reflected that. Just so you know, after that incident when we got back home, I ordered that underwear in every color for Lavarro and myself. I guess I discovered a side of myself that I thought I’d left in my early twenties. You’re never too old to feel sexy. I simply wanted a choice.
Remember that “Love never fails.”
Until next time…