The time I showed Madison Avenue my lady bits.

May 31, 2011

So.

You know how, when you’re about to have an important meeting with someone — professional or otherwise — you deliberate over what to wear?

And then, you’re all proud of yourself for selecting your outfit?  It’s sharp, it’s comfortable, it’s hip but it’s not trying too hard?

Let’s say you take your cute outfit out to breakfast, and you’re feeling good.  You’re about to have a meeting with oh, say, a national television producer.  Let’s say you finish up breakfast, march out to Madison Avenue in New York, and now, you are on your way.  Your Confidence Outfit and you.

Let’s say people start looking you up and down.

You walk a block.  Two blocks.  Five.  It seems that everywhere you go, people can’t stop gawking at you.

“Wow,” you think.  “I knew this ensemble was a winner, but apparently I’ve outdone myself.”

Let’s say you walk into the building of your meeting, and because it is a New York tower, you must check in with security at the lobby.  The security guard, he also can’t help but notice your clothing.

At this point you’re beginning to feel a little funny, what with all this ogling, but hey.  You signed up for the attention.  You’re looking pretty fly, girl.

Let’s say you walk into a crowded elevator, and by now, you’ve simply gotten used to the stares.  You graciously nod back.  But then the elevator door opens, and right before your meeting, you decide: “I’m going to hit the ladies’ room, just to make sure there’s nothing in my teeth.”

You walk in.

There is a mirror.

The image back reveals something far more disconcerting than food in the teeth.

Instead, the ENTIRE FRONT OF YOUR DRESS IS TUCKED UP INTO YOUR PANTY HOSE.

You are face-to-face with your underwear, tiny, “summertime” underwear.  The hose are sheer.  There’s little left to the imagination.

You start back in horror, because Madison Avenue just saw your vagina.

***

This is how I began my day on Thursday, while on a work trip to New York.  But it’s ok, because I had these pictures to come home to — and the following are how I shall remember my visit.  Rather than displaying my crotch for the world.

Bryant Park.

Times Square!  Did you know there’s a huge, luxury Applebee’s on Times Square?  Random!

The New York Public Library.  We were there for its 100 year anniversary.

The New York Anthropologie inside the Chelsea Market Building, a series of shops and offices nestled inside the old Bisquick factory.

Doesn’t is seem that no matter the city, Anthropologie is the most meticulously designed store, ever?  My sister-in-law is a window and store designer for Anthropologie, and I was honestly slack-jawed when I visited her store in Dallas.

This curvy wall leads you out of the Chelsea Market Building, onto the bustling street outside.

My work buddy Stephanie and I had drinks inside the Maritime Hotel.  We decided to take advantage of the good lighting for an impromptu photo shoot.

Rockefeller Tower.  Staring up at this made my neck hurt.

Me on The Highline, a raised train track in Chelsea that’s been converted into an elevated stretch of garden, covering several city blocks.  Stephanie and I took a walk there in between meetings, and I was charmed by all those colorful buildings in the background.

This was a random art installation inside Anthropologie (yes, we’re back to Anthropologie), and at first, when I looked down from the top floor, I thought it was just a big mess:

I thought, my my!  Or rather, tsk tsk — this is certainly out of character for Anthropologie!  
Then I realized what I was looking at, and then I stood there in the middle of the store and proceeded to take a billion pictures of Valentin‘s cool work.
I think I would probably donate one of my limbs in exchange for this tile.

Ok ok!  We finally left Anthropologie.  Here are two more shots from two New York bakeries, Fat Witch and Elsie’s.

You are just so charming, New York.  You’re rough and sleek, gritty and elegant, dirty and pristine.  Each year I love coming back home to Austin, but I feel like a bit of you rubs off on me with every visit.
Only, help a girl out, and tell me the next time you can see my lady bits.  Deal?

UPDATE (6/2/11): The original title of this post used a … different word for “lady bits.”  Not a profane word.  The anatomical word.

But then, I woke in the middle of the night having a nightmare that I got fired for posting that word on my blog, so I changed it.  Harumph.

I’m a little sad to see it go.  I got stopped on the street after that post, just for using the v-word!  It made me want to go audition for the nearest Vagina Monologues performance and vent about it.  Oh well.