Addicted to Love: My Most Embarrassing Walk of Shame Ever

I would typically fancy myself quite the expert when it comes to properly executing a walk of shame. I always have the key items stashed away in my purse (sunglasses, hat, etc.) that make my next day commute from his apartment to my own substantially less detectable. Sometimes, however, even the best of us manage to drop the proverbial ball and accumulate our very own stories for the Shame Hall of Fame. This is mine.

When it was time for me to begin making my journey, I tossed my messy hair in a bun, threw on my sunglasses and some lip gloss, and began my walk from his apartment to the subway station where I would catch the streetcar home. As soon as I emerged from the depths of his basement apartment like some sort of feral creature, I noticed it was raining (of course). As I began my walk, I could feel my tiny party dress riding up over my ass — which is never a concern when I’m wearing tights that manage to keep the dress from going anywhere. However, on this particular morning, I neglected to put my tights back on. I kept thinking, “Thank god for my long coat to prevent the entirety of my nether regions from being exposed to the elements/public.” It was certainly a little windy, but with surgically precise hand placement I prevented the front of my coat from blowing in any way that would require me to notify police when I moved to a new neighborhood.

I was on the phone with a dear friend, regaling her with the events of the evening prior. I felt like everyone was staring at me, but I assumed my sunglasses were completely out of place due to the rain, and they were all on to me (or they could hear me recounting the unsavory events from the night before. Either one). When I got on the streetcar I leaned against a pole until a seat opened up. I could feel that my entire ass was exposed under my jacket, but due to the jacket’s length I was unable to fix my dress, even if just for my own comfort’s sake. When I got up to get off, I could feel everyone staring at me, but I ignored it. With my luck, it was now exceptionally windy, so I was pulling my coat tightly to the front to hold it closed, so as to protect my little Pikachu. It wasn’t until I noticed the perturbed faces of a passing couple (who I’m sure were more upstanding citizens than I, and just wanted to go for a nice walk) that I remembered something that made me feel sicker than the amount of vodka still in my system:

My coat has a slit in the back.

So there I was, waiting to cross the street, pulling my coat to cover my front bits, not realizing this was causing the opening on the back of the coat to allow my entire ass to make an appearance. As I half ran the rest of the way home, now strategically holding one hand over the front and one hand over the back, I desperately tried to avoid the adorable family with two small children walking ever so slowly in the direction of my apartment.

I was immediately trying to recall how I was standing on the streetcar, and attempting to determine exactly how many people now knew me biblically, albeit people I will never see again (I hope). Once I got into the sanctuary of my building I burst into hysterical laughter in the elevator, staring at myself from behind in the mirror, demonstrating to myself the extent of the pro bono peep show I just gave everyone on a very large portion of the 504 streetcar line.

Note to self: never skip the tights.

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Alex Payne

Alex Payne

Contributor at Addicted
Alex Payne is a writer/editor/blogger living in Toronto, and a complete pop culture junkie, writing about music, dating, and whatever else she wants to rant about. She's obsessed with cupcakes, Kate Spade and The Simpsons. Oh, and vodka.
Alex Payne