Today I biked to work in the pouring rain. And not just a heavy drizzle, we’re talking flash flood kind of rain. I was soaked within the first minute, and since the bike ride takes 20, I was completely drenched to the marrow of my bones by the time I chained my bike to the fence outside work. I had thoughtfully brought another shirt and another pair of shoes, as well as a towel for my hair. But my blue jeans had taken the worst of it and I had brought no replacement for them. I tried to take a picture to prove my point, but the water had permeated them so thoroughly, that there was not a dry millimeter of denim anywhere. As a result, there was no way to tell in the photograph that the jeans were wet, they simply looked like they had been died a rich, deep blue.Now I work alone today, so I knew I had an eight hour shift of misery ahead of me. The last time I had to sit in wet clothes for longer than an hour, I got a horrible fever and was delirious for days. I work again tomorrow, and although I have Sunday off, I knew one day was not going to be adequate recovery time to prepare me for next week’s full work schedule.
I began wishing that I had my emergency sewing kit, the one I got free amongst the toiletries at the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas. The library building opened in five minutes and I imagined hastily ripping apart my sweater and sewing a skirt. I began to feel like I was on an episode of Project Runway. The twist? I work at a Seminary, and I have to be absolutely covered. No plastic shower curtain mini dresses here, no siree. Whatever I came up with had to hit the knee, and be thick enough to disguise the fuchsia colored panties I had naively chosen while getting dressed this morning.
After taking off my pants and putting them on a radiator to dry, I dug around and discovered an old yellow checkered curtain on the shelf in the employee bathroom. I knew it was too sheer by itself, so I changed into my spare shirt. The pink jersey blouse I had been wearing had stayed relatively dry under my coat, and it had a very wide, stretchy neck that was just large enough to fit over my legs. I used this as a “slip” and then wrapped the curtain over it. I flipped the bottom part of the shirt over the top of the skirt, to create another layer that would hide the fuchsia beneath.
The only lingering “indecency” was a long slit which revealed the goose pimple flesh of my cold, bare leg. I quickly searched the building for anything resembling a safety pin, finally discovering an old button in the retired library director’s empty office.
And voila!
I was no longer imprisoned by dripping wet denim and I was covered adequately in the eyes of the lord. And in a weird bohemian hipster nerd-chic kind of way, I looked cute.
My jeans will probably be dry before noon and I will probably change back into them. But at least I’m alright for now.
