When I was working at a Spanish investment firm, my boss asked me to stay late one night. He was expecting an important visitor and he didn’t want to have to open the door to our offices, would I mind terribly waiting to open the door?
Not a problem.
I went to the ladies’ room to do a quick check on my temperamental hair and admired my new white crossed chiffon blouse under my navy blue blazer. I nodded at my reflection and noticed that the blouse could use a safety pin as it had a little too much movement at the chest. It had been fine all day; I’d sew a stitch in at home.
I went back to my office and went over some papers, careful not to disturb my hair.
The bell rang and I jumped up and walked briskly out to answer the door. It was a priest, maybe not just any priest, it was an old school priest who I recognized from previous visits, and one who wore full traditional vestments. He held out his hand to me, palm down, I knew what that meant. I knelt and kissed his ring. I was feeling pleased with myself even though the priest seemed less than impressed with my show of devotion.
My boss came around the corner and greeted his guest and he turned to me.
“May I introduce Mary? Her father is Polish – but she is clearly American.”
I thought that was a bit odd in way of introduction and I glanced down with faux-shyness. As my glance lowered I caught sight of a satin-shining orb. My blouse had slipped and my left breast was totally exposed.
The two gentlemen made some comments about New York as I pulled my blouse over my satin bra.
“Mary, you may leave now.”
And the moon and I made a quick exit.
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