Yesterday morning began like most others, and as we packed the kids and the car for a weekend trip to the beach there was no indication that something I had relied on for so many years would decide to fail me today.  We stopped for gas and I grabbed a coffee to go for our quick hour long trip south.

We had one brief stop to make at the Real Charitable Housewives of Delaware’s latest event to raise money for the Kent County S.P.C.A., and my biggest concern was dropping off our donation and managing to leave without adopting a pet.  Even after the pet ants and our new hermit crabs there has still been a daily and relentless badgering for a dog.  At this point it’s not that I don’t like dogs, I do, but my biggest reason for saying “no” is that my father is allergic and we wouldn’t be able to have him to our house without triggering his allergies and newly developed asthma, let alone be able to bring the dog to his beach house every weekend. I reminded myself of this over and over as we headed to drop off our donation.

No dogs.

No dogs.

No dogs.

My repetitious reminder was interrupted as we hit a bump in the road and I splattered a few droplets of coffee onto my white pants.  I cursed out loud to the universe knowing full well this is just what happens when I wear white pants.  All I was hoping to do was make it 30 minutes to the charity event, thirty minutes while we were there and then I could feel free to spill whatever I wanted on the front of myself.  It, of course, was also my luck that I had just removed my Tide Pen the night before.  At least it was drying quickly and not so noticeable.

I remained cautious the rest of the drive, handling my coffee cup with extreme care, not knowing another mishap would be far worse and happening soon.

When we arrived my kids didn’t know what to do first…There were balloons, cookies, kittens, puppies and people buzzing around I.G. Burton Chevy/Jeep/Dodge where the Real Charitable Housewives of Delaware were filling an SUV with supplies for the S.P.C.A.  All three kids had a fantastic time petting, holding and showering the animals with love.  I’m not sure how we made it out of there without an animal; just look at the sheer joy on Joey’s face:

Photo by Amber Shader Photography

This almost makes me want to find a hypoallergenic dog…almost.

Even as this moment was captured, full of youth an innocence, other things unbeknownst to me, were breaking down and coming to the end.

It took me a full twenty minutes to say our good byes and get the kids out the door.  They all cried in the car for ten minutes and I reached behind me to hush them with a favorite DVD for the remaining twenty minutes of the drive.

We pulled into my parent’s house and my brother immediately asked me if I drank any coffee.  I was holding my cup and assumed he saw the polka dots I added when we hit the bump earlier.  I went about unpacking and after a few minutes, walked past a mirror and noticed a giant, no gargantuan, wet stain just south of my left boob.

“What the hell,” I exclaimed and touched the spot which felt oily but had no smell.  “Michael,” I called to my brother, “is this what you what you were talking about when I came in?” I pointed to the soccer ball sized stain which extended all the way to the bottom the the shirt.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied and my Mother came over for a look too.

“You sure you didn’t lean in something? Or pick up a puppy?” everyone asked.

“I think I’d know if a dog peed on me, but oh my God!  Did I walk around saying hello and shaking hands with my boob like this?” I wailed.

My husband assured me even he would have noticed such a stain, but I’m not so sure.  Still not knowing what it was I went to change my shirt and realized what had happened.

Last week I went through my clothes and put away items that were now too big for me to wear (go me! I’m losing weight besides my constant efforts to the contrary).  I also was able to take out some clothing from another bin which I had not been able to wear in six years.  Two of those items, my red and white plaid shirt and a smaller sized white bra, I wore Saturday.  The latter of the two was made at Victoria’s Secret and sold as part of the “Very Sexy” bras with subtle gel padding for a more natural shape.  I had purchased this bra, as I sit here and think about it, probably eight or nine years ago.

Apparently, the lifespan for one of these bras is eight or nine years.

On the left side of the bra one of the gel inserts (which is not removable and sewn into the bra) had ruptured and leaked out the bottom and all over my shirt, skin, and was even evident in an oily stain on my SUV’s center console where I had leaned around to turn on the kid’s DVD player.

Best case scenario I popped the gel padding in the car ten minutes after I left the car dealership, worst case scenario it happened  before arriving to the event and I walked around with boob gel all over my shirt.

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