Well, this moment must take the cake on embarrassing moments for me. It’s been a while since I’ve had an embarrassing moment so I guess I was due.

On Thursday evening I found myself hankering for a hot chocolate from my favorite place – Second Cup. Nobody does hot chocolate like them, except the French, and right now, I’m nowhere near France, so poo-poo for me.

One of my true loves, and one of many of my guilty pleasures. Only about a million calories and a zillion grams of fat. But who’s counting?

I park the car, go inside and see there are about 8 or 10 people inside. I pass a table of two men, another with one woman, three older men have taken the seats at the back by the fireplace, and there were a few other stragglers that could have been men or women – I wasn’t particularly paying attention at that point because now I had my nose pressed up against the glass of the display case and was oogling the various delectables housed within.

The girl behind the counter gives me a strange look and asks what I’d like to have. I tell her a large hot chocolate and a chocolate dipped peanut butter oat cake. Go big, or go home, I say. (Evidently, at this pace, I’M the one who’s gonna be big and going home, but anyway….)

She rings in my purchase and tells me my drink will be ready at the end of the counter (as if I don’t know this). I moved down to the end of the counter and I heard the girls snickering and whispering behind the counter. I couldn’t see them as the big brewing machines where in my way. I assumed they were giggling about what they were doing.

A different girl hands me my hot chocolate which I fancy up with a dash of cinnamon and about 2 whole minutes of shaking the chocolate shavings on top.

I get the same odd stares as I leave that I had coming in… but over the years I’ve just accepted the fact that I am kinda weird looking and that’s why people stare. Either that, or I’ve got something on my face like misplaced makeup or lettuce in my teeth. Whatever.

It’s not until I get back in the car and discover – in horror – as I pull the seatbelt across that I just walked around a coffee shop for about 5 whole minutes with half of my shirt unbuttoned. Yes, that’s right, my shirt was wide open, bra showing, and the first “done up” button was about mid-stomach.


This is pretty much me, except I didn’t have a sweater. “Could I have a large hot chocolate please? And since I’m busy texting my friends I’ll just hold it between my boobs that are clearly visible through my open shirt right now.”  Grrrrreat.

I guess it could have been worse, I could have walked around Wal-Mart for a whole hour. Regardless, I’d like to say a “thanks a lot” to all the customers and staff of Second Cup who allowed me to walk around like that and not tell me. Men I wouldn’t expect to say anything simply because I think most men love even the remote glimpse of boobs and wouldn’t want to stop it, even my mom told me that my father used to say he’d love to run barefoot through a field of boobs, so there you go, but I’d expect a fellow woman to say something. They didn’t, I made a fool of myself and I hope they all spilled their drinks – preferably in their laps.

I mean really. If I were purposely doing that, don’t you think I would have worn a better bra, and NOT my slightly older, flesh/beige colored one? Beige bras aren’t attractive on anyone – they are functional, not sexy. Not even on Victoria Secret models. Beige bras are equivalent to compression socks – functional, but not sexy.

I just might have to start going to a new Second Cup now… one where the staff and customers haven’t seen my wares.