Inappropriate story

This story is rated PG-13.

You've been warned.

I don't really have a filter about what is appropriate to share and what is not, but I feel that laughing at embarrassing situations helps me to not bury myself in blankets and never come out. So please, laugh with (at) me. 

My mom has some very nice Hispanic women that come to clear her house every couple of weeks. They usually just clean the main level and upstairs, and don't clean the basement. This is an important part of the story, because my husband and I lived in the basement of my parent's house for a couple of months this summer. So, on one fateful afternoon, I was aware that the cleaners were at the house, but I had been told that they don't come into the basement. After various marital pursuits, such as balancing the checkbook and discussing retirement of course, I found myself sans ropa, ifyougetmydrift. It also happened to be laundry day. I went to go run into the laundry room, on the opposite side of the basement, to grab some clothes. Just as I was making my sprint past the stairs, who should open the door? Of course the cleaning ladies. She quickly put her head down and mumbled an apology in Spanish and slammed the door. And then I'm pretty sure she went to go soak her eyeballs in lysol to cleanse them from the image burned into her retinas. I'm pretty sure my cheeks stayed bright red for about a week. And I had to hide in the basement every time the cleaners came after that because I could not bear to see that poor woman again.

Fast forward 3 months... The cleaning ladies came yesterday. I opened the door and immediately locked eyes with the one who was involved in "the incident." I immediately turned scarlet once again and we both kind of looked down awkwardly and smiled nervously.

I feel like my list of people who have accidentally seen me all nakie is higher than normal. There is the time I was in a changing room in Kohl's and the dumb door flew open, the time I was playing the waves in the ocean and several crucial functions of my swimsuit were compromised, and various other wardrobe malfunctions. Nobody wins in these situations. I come away embarrassed and unable to make eye contact with anyone, and those exposed have to deal with permanent and irreversible damages to their psyche.

The moral of this story is, take caution next time you make a dash across the house in your birthday suit.