I'm nothing if not a classy broad.

During our church services on Sunday, I found myself scooting out of Sacrament meeting to use the ladies room. It's a practice that is becoming more and more common what with this wonderfully large baby dancing on my bladder. Task completed successfully, I made the long walk back down the hallway, past the room with the open door where members of the Young Single Adult ward energetically participated in a Sunday School lesson. I smiled quietly at the few members of my own ward seated outside the chapel, and silently glided back into the large meeting and into our row not far from the back of the chapel. My belly and I scooted past the Schmoops, who was doing a terrific job corralling our two-year-old, and made myself comfortable on the pew to wait out the remainder of the meeting.

The organist began the postlude music, and that's when it happened. I was scooping up crayons and errant pretzel pieces when I felt a tapping on my shoulder.

Tap. Tap tap.

"Kristie?" a tentative voice called softly. "Your skirt is tucked in to your underwear in the back."

Oooh yeeaaaaahhhhh.

I am so hot right now.

Praises be that I had decided to wear a simple brown cotton skirt that, when not hitching a ride in my underwear, reaches past my ankles. I'm told (NOT by the husband who failed to notice any problem at all as I pushed my way past him in the pew--my derriere practically touching his face--I'd like to point out and thankyouverymuch) the long skirt still reached nearly to my knees in the back even with my delightful wardrobe malfunction.

After my thoughtful informant had moved away, pushed by the crowd of people eager to get home after three hours of worship services, Paddy looked at me with a bright smile on his face and arm raised cheerfully.

"You walked all the way back here with your skirt in your underpants? Right on! High five!"

And since there wasn't much else to do at that point, I wryly returned his grin and clapped my outstretched hand on his. Right on.