Public Lingerie Emergencies or I Fought the Pantyhose and the Pantyhose Won

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
21

My sister’s first wedding; I was maid of honor. The dress she’d chosen for me was a clingy blue satin number with spaghetti shoulder-straps–not too awful, but it required wearing a strapless bra. I didn’t own one and wasn’t going to buy one just for this one occasion, and so wound up borrowing one.

The bra did its duties very well through the ceremony and the reception dinner, but when we got to dancing… well, it was too much for the poor underwired thing. It just slid downwards. In the middle of a dance, I suddenly felt that I was not as well-supported as I should be, and looked down to find that I had apparently developed a second set of breasts at waist-level!

A quick trip to the ladies’ room put things right, but I didn’t do any more dancing that evening, and have avoided strapless dresses ever since.

22

Twenty-some years ago, I was a brand-shiny-new Ensign assigned to duties in the Pentagon. At that time, we were only required to wear uniforms once a week, with appropriate professional attire the rest of the time. So I had to do the dress/skirt/pantyhose thing.

In care you’re not aware, the Pentagon is a huge building with huge parking lots all around it. On my way from the office to my car one non-uniform-wearing evening, I noticed my pantyhose and panties were headed south. Yes, I wore both. Can’t have too many panty lines, I always say!

Why, you may ask, did I not avail myself of the many, many ladies rooms in that massive building?

Simple - I wanted to go home. My work day was over, and I wanted out of there. I figured they’d just kinda hang around my hips and I’d deal with it when I got to my car. So I kept walking. And walking. My gait was a bit odd as I was clenching my thighs together to keep the hose up. It only got worse when I got outside.

And being quitting time, the parking lot was full. And being an Ensign, I didn’t rate close-in parking. Finally, I felt safe enough to pause in the midst of some cars and remove the offending garments. Heck, they were practically on the ground anyway. I didn’t look around - I just balled them up, got to my car, and went home.

And I threw those stupid hose away.

Now I wear slacks or jeans almost exclusively.

23

Great thread!

Has the Air Stocking made it to the states yet? I understand they’re having a hard time keeping it on the shelves in Japan. Spray on pantyhose, resistant to water, comes off in the shower. No more runs and penguin walks? Well, I guess it’s more like makeup for your legs …can’t wait till it hits Europe! :slight_smile:

24

My personal nemesis is the Underwire Front Closure Bra.

I tried to wear one years ago when I was an Art Director who did her own illustration and paste-up at a very big drafting board. I saw no reason to change my way to of doing things just to appease some piece of lingerie! So I was bending over the board to… !pop! bra unfastens. Short elbow-clenched trip to ladies room for repair.

Returned to board and finished task. Leaned back and !pop! Bra unclasps. Look to the right, look to the left, no body looking? Good! (surreptitious re-buckle). I held my chest rigid, no luck. Holding chest bunched together, no luck. Holding shoulders back, no luck.

Now, why, after the fifth time I didnÕt catch on, I dunno. I WAS busy, but really! So I ended up closing my studio door so I could make adjustments every time I moved and the clasp unclasped.

I kept that bra for years just so I had something to take my anger out on when I needed it.

25

I was off for an interview and running late. I grabbed a pair of slacks out of the dryer and put them on and ran out the door.

During my interview I kept feeling a lump in my leg but didn’t know what it was.

On my way out of the interview the lump fell to my ankle. It was a pair of pantyhose. So I quick tried to grab the pantyhose and tuck them in my purse without anyone seeing. As I pulled the pantyhose up I relize one of the legs is behind my knee and the rest of the pantyhose is at my ankle. The more I pulled the further the stretch of the panthose and then it would tighten up behind my knee.

Now I was standing in front of a 7 floor glass building so anyone could have seen me.

So I just balled up the panthose at my ankle and walked really fast to the car.

I couldn’t wait to get home to get those suckers off.

From then on out I check the inside of my pants before putting them on.

26

Great stories! I don’ t have any pantyhose disasters in my arsenal (thankfully), but I have a question for Salem: Did you get the job? :slight_smile:

27

Jodim’dear, you have my undying admiration. Oh God what a hilarious post! And mostly because I feel your pain! Never worn one like that (skirt-like, I assume) but I have worn the shorts-like girdles and even better, the full-body version… The pain we women endure.

28

I use to work in downtown Boston and would take the train to work, then walk a few blocks to my office. This was in the late 80’s/early90’s, when those thigh highs were just coming out around here. So, upon an endorsement from my roommate (“I danced all night and they never fell down!”), I bought a pair.

I wore them under a skirt one day. Train ride, fine. Climbing out of the subway, not so fine. I start feeling a definite creep downwards. Then a sort of ‘sliding’ action. This, mind you, is at Downtown Crossing at the height of rush hour, so it’s not even like I could stop mid-stairs and adjust things. Not without being crushed by the tide of commuters.

So, I had to walk those few blocks—those long city blocks—to my office, holding the blasted things up through the pockets in the side of the skirt. I stopped at the convenience store on the corner of the street where I worked and shelled out all kinds of money for a pair of regular old pantyhose.

29

Re balled-up pantyhose in your pant leg: This happened once to Mr. S’s mother. He was wlking a little behind her into the grocery store when the little ball just fell out. He scooped it up and put it in his pocket. She never knew a thing.

30

Strapless bras. Was there ever a piece of lingerie that promised so much, yet delivered so little? I bought one specifically to wear under a particular sundress of mine. Said sundress has adorable spaghetti straps and its fabric is rather sheer, so it requires the strapless bra and slip combo.

I wore the dress for the first time out to a very nice, very large restaurant on the first night of my brand-new inlaws visiting my husband and I in our town. During dinner, I laugh quite a bit and do things like reach for condiments, pass bread, etc. And I feel the bra sliding south. Not much mind you, just a little slippage here and there, but surely nothing to worry about, thinks I.

Well, I finally get up to use the restroom, and feel the bra slip a noticable jolt more as I rise. My father-in-law’s eyes widen and he hastily looks down at his plate. I hurry un-poised-ly to the ladies’ room, and discover that the damn bra has slid down to midway between my boobs and my navel, resulting in a really unsightly and quite breasts-shaped lump across my midsection. And worse, the sheer fabric left my nipples VERY obvious. I did some adjusting and spent the rest of the evening, and walk back to the car, with my upper arms clenched to my sides to keep everything in place.

31

Classic.

32

Oh, Beadalin! I am suddenly seeing an Eastern Snake Goddess with multiple breasts stuffed into a frilly sundress embroidered with small serpents!!! <<wiping eyes>>
Thanks!

33

When I was a youngster and forced to attend church every week, the pastor’s daughter, who was about 19 at the time and really REALLY hot, walked across the whole church (which sat at least 1,000 people, if not more. It’s huge) with her skirt tucked into the back of her pantyhose.

34

On Sept. 11, I had to buy emergency overnight supplies, as I couldn’t get home and had to stay with friends. The next morning I headed South—and so did my new pantyhose, which were two sizes too small.

I ducked into an open office building, yanked my skirt up, pulled off my undies: just as an elderly Asian man was walking down the hall sipping some coffee. I politely said, “good morning,” stuffed my undies into my bag, pulled my skirt down, put my shoes back on and continued on my way.

And Salem, I’m glad to hear that Julia Sugarbaker and I aren’t the only ones to leave home with their skirts tucked into their pantyhose . . .

35

Thank you all so much for making me feel much less alone in the Public Humiliation Department. It does get drafty in here sometimes. It’s nice we can roll up our lingerie and fuel the fire with it.
Jodi’s story reminded me of this god-awful one piece hold-in-everything-you-got girdley kind of thing I once wore with three little button snaps in the crotch to hold it all in place. The stuff that’s being held in has absolutely nowhere to go. Well, my stuff found a clever way out. At a wedding no less. In a dress tight enough that I needed to be wearing the damned thing in the first place. I bent over and twang, the first button snap pops open embedding itself into my inner thigh. I jumped up trying not to squeal from the pain and twang, goes the second snap. Now the third snap is hanging on for dear life, trying to hold back the gathering wave of assorted flesh fighting it’s way out the bottom. I headed to the ladies room trying to bolster the efforts of the poor third snap by holding my thighs together as close as possible. It was too much. Twang and sting goes the third snap, up pops the entire bottom of the garment, not stopping til it hits a wall of boobage. People are staring as I gain ten pounds right before their very eyes, causing everyone to pause before finishing their cake.

October, to answer your question above, no I didn’t get the job. I think they gave it to someone smart enough to have worn pants that day.

Eve, I’ll tell my skirt tucked into the pantyhose story if you tell yours…

36

Salem, you have a wonderful sense of humor! Thanks for sharing that story! :smiley:
Quasi

37

Front hook underwire bras…Terrorcotta I’m with you on the personal nemisis thing.

I’m an EMT on a volunteer rescue squad in a very rural area. One Sunday evening last summer, we had just gotten back from a nice dinner out when the pager went off. Motorcycle accident. I was still dressed for dinner, so I just shucked out of the dress and slip, threw on some duty pants, a squad T-shirt and my hiking boots and took off. So there I was, in full hair and make up, with a super-duper-heavy-duty front hook push up bra and panty hose under my clothes, heading off to give a guy CPR in the ditch by the side of the road.

When we got on scene we pulled the ambulance as far off the shoulder as we could, but the ditch was steep and deep so we couldn’t go far. I was riding shotgun, so I got out on the ditch side. It was a long way down, let me tell ya. So I grab the oxygen out of the side cabinet, and open the side door to jump in and grab the defib. It seemed even farther up than it was down…the step that on flat level ground hit just below my knee was now at about mid-thigh because of the steep slope we were parked on.

So I grabbed one hand on each side of the door frame, got one foot on the step and pulled myself into the rig. All was well and good except for the fact that the action of grabbing caused the front hook bra to unhook, and the action of pulling forced the bra cups back, under my armpits and onto my shoulder blades. The bra was fairly new, the cups were well under-wired and pretty stiff. Under a thin and clingy t-shirt it looked like I had put my bra on backwards. I was managing the guy’s airway, and the lights that they had set up were shining right on my back. I needed to be able to look at the thing to get it hooked back up, and I didn’t get the privacy I needed to lift my shirt until after we had handed our patient off to the doc in the ER. I had to give a hand off report under the full glaring illumination of the emergency room lights with my boobs on my back.

38

“Of course, it wasn’t quite as bad as the time I left the ladies room with my skirt tucked into the back of my underwear…”

This is the first thing I thought of when I saw the thread title.

While in high school I worked as a chef in a restaurant. The relationship between the front of the house staff and the kitchen staff is notoriously strained - our restaurant was no exception. One particular waitress was a real pain - forever letting dishes sit to get cold, bungling orders, etc. Her name was Teresa.

One evening during the rush (packed house, people really going at their jobs) I made a quick dash to the front of the house to get something to drink. As I’m standing there behind the bar, I see Teresa come out of the ladies’ room and walk the entire lenght of the restaurant. Her skirt is tucked into the back of her pantyhouse. A good soul finally catches her attention and whispers into her ear and she VERY sheepishly pulled her skirt down and ran back to the waitress station nearly in tears. I very nearly pissed my pants laughing.

39

I was out with a friend and her parents for a her birthday many years ago. We’d had a lovely dinner at the Rainbow Room, and then went to see Kiss of the Spiderwoman, which had recently opened.

I had bought a new outfit for the event (Chita Rivera in a first-run show!), and put on a brand-new pair of cream-colored tights. They were the right size on the label (I checked, later, as I threw them out), but they must have been cut small or mis-labelled. They were a little tight putting them on, but I didn’t have another pair that color, and I figured they would stretch.

Chita Rivera received a well-deserved standing O at the end of the show. As I, along with the rest of the theatre stood up, my tights did not. Apparently, during the show, they had crept down to my lap, and that’s where they stayed. Until I had to move, that is.

The smart thing to do, probably, would have been to excuse myself to the restroom and fix them, but they had got the tickets as part of some package, and we had to catch a bus. I would hate to make my hosts late, so I just held onto the tights as best I could, until I could find a corner I could duck around and yank them back up where they belonged. I was wearing boots, so I couldn’t take them off.

I’ll never forget running down Broadway holding my tights for dear life through my skirt. :smiley:

But the loungerie I hate the most is underwire bras of any sort. I simply won’t wear them anymore; too many of them have tried to kill me. I am certainly big enough to need the support, but have had it with being stabbed. Either they break and try to stab you through the heart, or they poke through the material and stab you in the armpits. OR, if they don’t do that, they will break and pinch you unmercifully. It’s a plot, I tell you.

40

lingerie :smack: