How I ended up wearing my mom's panties on my chest.

If you look at the picture at the top of this blog you will see a picture of me (Molly the mezzo, the one with all the misadventures), and my gorgeous, supportive, creative, and slightly crazy mother. I say slightly crazy as a term of endearment, and as an understatement. Fact: that woman is nutso and I love her.

I flew into Denver last night to visit my parents before I go sing in Beijing. This is going to come as no surprise when I say my parents are ... different. People expect after meeting me that the ones who raised me will be just as obscure, and they would be correct. I could write a novel on my father's exploits into uranium mining and my mother's life in the convent, but for now I think I'll just focus on one itty bitty story.

My mother, has this quirky habit of buying me twenty dresses every time I need one. They are always lovely and classy as heck, but seeing as I have the body (boobs) I have they take a little extra work for me than for other people. One dress needs to be taken in, one let out, one have straps made for it... welcome to how I have spent my morning. (Not that I'm complaining, I'm sitting on a comfy armchair on my computer while she and our friend Ann work like little Russian ladies in a sweatshop in LA. I don't even have to get dressed, just put on a robe in between fittings of various dresses. Tres chic).

The unconventional celebrity treatment was going well, until I put on a dress that was too low cut and needed "something to be more modest"*. Having warned her of this issue the evening before she presented me with the best of fixes.

"Hold out your arm", said she

"Here tis", said I

"Oh joy, they match most splendidly", said she

"What is this flesh toned contraption on my arm?", asked I

"Why, tis my drawers!" exclaimed she**. 

Apparently her plan was to put the nude panties as a panel in the v-neck. She is rather brilliant because she actually went from this:

Gross, I know... To this: 

And when I complained there was too much skin she finally went to this: 

AKA the lace from the undies with the non lace part under it.

This pair of nude undies is now going to be in one of my most glamorous, classiest performance gowns.

And that's how I ended up wearing my mom's panties on my chest. On stage.


*This royal blue beautiful dress was perfect other than the fact that there was so much cleavage I felt as though I were mooning others from the front. Not pretty.

**To be fair, that woman had actually bought the undies brand new that morning. They had not been worn, by her or anyone (hopefully).