You Watch My Tag, I’ll Watch Your Toilet Paper

I sit there on the subway, the price tag of the woman’s leather coat dangling in front of me.  I feel embarrassed just looking at her.

She looks like one of those women who spends her Saturday afternoons shopping in Yorkville in downtown Toronto. Perfectly coiffured blond hair, bright red manicured nails, impeccably applied makeup, tailored pants and designer shoes that peek out from under them. And a brown leather jacket – that cost $325.

I know because I can see the price on the tag hanging under her arm. I look down at the subway floor trying not to notice. But I know I have to tell her.

How many times have I walked around a dinner party with a wide smile on my face, all charm and humor, not knowing I have a big piece of “something” stuck between my teeth?  Ignorance is bliss. 

At some point in the evening I disappear into the washroom and check myself out in the mirror. I do the routine inspection. Hair is in place – check. Clothes are tucked in – check. No smudges under the eye – check. Butt looks great in jeans – check, check. And just as I’m about to leave I smile at myself.  The horror!  I grab on to the sink to get a closer look. What the hell? There’s food stuck in my teeth. It’s the only thing I notice now as I stare at my reflection. 

The worse moment is after the realization. Who did I talk to since I ate?  I made my rounds of the room twice, stuffing my face with food, acting like the life of the party, laughing and smiling – with a huge piece of something green (isn’t it mostly always that color?) stuck in my teeth. I berate myself for eating. Damn Steve for tempting me with spinach dip. 

I know I’m being irrational. Eventually I calm down and have to ask the most obvious of questions. Why didn’t someone tell me I had something stuck between my canine and lateral incisor? 

And what about all those other social and style disasters?

The “revealing clothes tag” fashion faux pas: This happens when I wear my rattiest underwear and the world learns that I’m wearing eight year old La Senza thongs.

The “something on my face” moment: This is where leftover brown and flaky food sticks around my mouth and requires a witty “I’m saving it for later” response.

The “toilet paper hanging off a shoe” incident:  This social disaster happens when leaving the washroom, usually about to enter a crowd full of people.

The “skirt tucked into panty hose” accident: This is a work related disaster that happens when I’m in a rush and, as fate would have it, my boss walks behind me just as I leave the bathroom. 

The “run in my nylons” moment:  An unfortunate occurrence that happens at the worse time, usually before a very important meeting, and spans from crotch to sandal foot toe.

And, of course, the “look how much I paid for my leather coat” moment.

I don’t understand why more people don’t help to prevent these embarrassing and potentially disastrous moments.

I consider the possible reasons.

• They are oblivious.
• They think someone else will tell me.
• They are too embarrassed to point it out.
• They don’t care because I’m a stranger.
• They need a good laugh on my behalf.
• They dislike me.
• They are just plain mean.

Perhaps men would choose the first answer.  But women?  We could do much more to help each other out.

The times I am assisted are few and far between. As a result, I’ve been forced to minimize the likelihood of these moments on my own terms, creating some awful habits. Habits that are almost worse than the moment itself. 

For example, rather than risk flaunting my charm to a room of people with something green stuck between my teeth, I now sweep my tongue under my lips and on the top of my teeth. I repeat this many times using the top of my tongue to feel for food. Or I grab something sharp and poke it around my teeth.  Usually it’s a toothpick if available. If I’m with someone I know well I simply ask them, “Is there anything in my teeth?” and bare them like a threatened dog.  The other option is to not eat in public, which is not really an option. I love food way too much.

The other moments have necessitated certain habits too.

The clothing malfunctions, like skirt in panty hose and run in nylons, have created obsessive rituals.  For instance, to ensure all tags are hidden I either cut them off or do the “once over”, which involves feeling the back of my neck and then my pants for tags that are sticking out. I do this a few times before I’m satisfied no one will know “who” I’m wearing or what size my clothes are.

To rid my face of all food I’ve become fixated with wiping it clean with my napkin, which leaves my face red and dry and attracts napkin fibers.

To ensure no toilet paper is stuck under my shoe I almost always lift up my feet behind me to take a good look. It actually looks ridiculous.  A friend noticed and told me so.

Ironically, I’ve also been told I look strange when I do the tongue sweeping over teeth technique, that it’s rude to pick at my teeth, and I’m laughed at when I ask if there’s food in my teeth.

I sit there on the subway, the price tag of the woman’s leather coat dangling in front of me.  I feel embarrassed just looking at her. Yet, I can’t let her go about her day knowing how embarrassed she’ll likely be later, or worse, the habit she’ll start. I imagine her lifting up both her arms in the morning like a bird trying to take flight.  

I wait for her to look in my direction. When she does I discreetly motion to the area under her arm and whisper, “Your tag.” She lifts her arm to look and responds, “Oh! I was in such a rush, I forgot about it. Thank-you.”  She smiles and drops her hand from the railing to cover it up.

I smile back and hope that someone will return the favor to me.

Unfortunately, today is not that day.

When I get home that evening, I yank off my new shoes noticing the bright orange price tag – with a bold $49.99 on it.

Unfolding Tip:

Sometimes you just need to embrace embarrassment.