Accidentally exposing myself on London Bridge.

Last week one of the most embarrassing things happened to me. I was crossing London Bridge, in rush hour, to meet some friends from work. Essentially, as I was crossing the bridge some colossal river wind blew my dress up. But not just like a cheeky Monroe moment, it flew right up from all sides with such ferocity I literally couldn’t get it down for the best part of a minute. I’m standing there on London Bridge, wearing a thong, and I cannot for love nor money get my fucking dress down. Cars are beeping, I can hear men in suits joking and laughing even from the other side of the street. In the end, I actually kneel down in the street, thinking, if I can sit on the dress then at least I can control the back. But no, now I’m just kneeling on the pavement with my dress still flapping around my head, so I crawl towards the wall of the bridge and press my arse against it so I can try to control the front.

I cannot describe the scene. People had shamelessly stopped walking in order to gawp, and the people in standstill traffic in both directions, including those on buses, had no shame in staring at me trying to get myself together. In the end, with my bare arse pressed against the bridge, I managed to get the front a bit more under control, and I grabbed a passing woman by the arm WITH TEARS IN MY EYES and said, shaking “please help me I’m so embarrassed I could die”. So she held my dress down and I got a (tiny, cropped) jacket out of my bag, and she helped me tie it around my waist like you do with school jumpers, which only marginally helped; I still had to trot the last 50metres holding my dress down with my hands the best I could.So yeah, whoops. Sorry London.

9 thoughts on “Accidentally exposing myself on London Bridge.

  1. I’m selfishly pleased this sort of stuff doesn’t just happen to me. It’s super traumatic, isn’t it? I couldn’t get over it for the rest of the day; I had to get very drunk. And yes, it’s made all my days since then feel very poised in comparison!

  2. This cracked me up!

    It also reminded me of that time in the union when I was dressed as a cave girl and slipped on the slimy shit that covers the floor in piazza.
    When on the ground I thought the worst was over, until I heard a lad shout “TITS”. I looked down and there my boobs were. Hanging out of the shreds of material I called a costume, for all and sundry to see!

    1. Oh bloody hell, that is cripplingly embarrassing. Although, my “TITS” are more my headliner than my bum, so given the choice between getting the ladies out in the union or getting my arse out on London Bridge, I reckon I’d take the trade!

  3. I’ve had a less dramatic version of that happen to me in Aberdeen – walking down steps from one street level to another by a theatre with my 2 street pastors with a floaty skirt on. Have worn cropped leggings under my skirts ever since!

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