Full frontal...

... wardrobe malfunction. Last Friday night was my office Christmas party. It's usually a fabulous, rip-roarin' good time, and this year was no exception. 

I was especially proud of my $40 dress purchase this year which was within my budget. How responsible of me, I thought. It was a sleek, dark purple number with a plunging neckline which could be casual or fancy, depending on how it was accessorized. 

The evening started out well, with me sportin' my new threads and having somehow avoided the "night bloats" that sometimes afflict me. I think it was this yoga pose I tried, prior to the party, that kind of "stretches out" your digestive system. It was that or starve myself for at least 24 hours before the party, and I love food too much to do that. 

Anyhoo, there we were at the Christmas party, enjoying a fine meal, wine and good company. Everything was going according to plan, and the top of my dress, firmly in place, looked like this:

Nothing wrong here; perfectly normal... 

Yes, I've now sunk to posting photos of my breasts on my blog. I'm that kind of girl. 

Once dinner and speeches were over, the "dancing like crazed banshees on acid" portion of the evening kicked off, always a crowd favorite. Fueled by alcohol and the sheer joy of  Christmas, I shook my bootie like nobody's business, probably for at least an hour, until I went to the washroom, looked in the mirror and saw this:

But Sassy, you say, what's the problem? Look a little closer my dear readers, something is definitely amiss...

After some serious dance floor exertion, my dress was basically trying to escape from my body by ever so stealthily crawling up my torso to, I can only assume, jump up over my head and run away. I suspect I made a tactical error in my choice of undergarments. 

You see, the top of this dress was designed for the presence of boobs only - no bras. The shape and weight of said breasts would keep the dress firmly in place. But, in my infinite wisdom, I chose to wear a strapless bra as well, lest the girls decide to bounce enthusiastically around during my musical gyrations and accidentally blind me. It could happen. 

My mistake. The dress could now easily slide over the bra and the ensuing wardrobe disaster is depicted in the above photo. To get the full effect, here's a side shot. (This photo, although strikingly similar to that of a very pregnant lady, which, evidently, I am not, aptly depicts the situation I found myself in.)

Boob padding riding up my chest.




My actual boob, or a giant fetus preparing to burst from my vagina (perhaps in a parallel universe).
 
Needless to say, when I first laid eyes on this situation, I was horrified. How long had this been going on? And why hadn't anyone said anything? I told my boyfriend about it, and he hadn't even noticed it. This was a good sign, since he's got quite a keen eye when it comes to my wardrobe. 

I can only deduce that none of my co-workers noticed either; that, or they were wrestling between feeling sorry for me and being mildly entertained by my dress anarchy. 

I'm somewhat grateful that I only noticed this heinous fashion accident later in the evening since I was much more self-conscious afterwards, and had to keep pulling down my dress on the dance floor. The lesson here kids? Don't wear bras in dresses with built-in support - trust the dress. That, or get too drunk to care.