That dress—revealed but not all that revealing

Followers of this blog might remember my references to a low-cut dress that I wore to a formal dance about 50 years ago. I’ve often promised to tell the story of that night and another relevant night about a year later.

Earlier today I found that black velvet dress folded up and stuffed into the back of an upper cupboard. I tried it on and it only-just doesn’t zip up in the back. So middle-age spread isn’t too drastic. But the attempted try-on confirmed that the bras of today are up to the challenge of this low-cut dress. I have a whole drawer full of bras that could do the job now.

So on to the story of 1967
In the late 1960s, I was in university and a member of a sorority (those women’s organisations that are very popular in the USA). I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the sorority, but the annual formal did nothing for my confidence.

Luckily, I have no memory of my first Cotillion (the name of the annual dance), but sadly my memories of the second dance will never be obliterated.

So let me set the scene
On the first year, I noticed that many of my sorority sisters wore formal dresses with plunging necklines. I hope no one takes offence, but most of them were rather flat-chested and hardly did their dresses justice.

So enter Peggy the next year. I’m rather busty and thought I might be able to do a low-cut dress some justice. So I made one.

Cripes, dress patterns never really quite show you how the end result will look. This turned out more plunging than I expected, but totally fine by today’s standards. Back then, I was faced with the challenge of holding up my boobs with a ‘strapless’ and ‘industrial-strength’ padded white bra.

I now know that black duct tape can work miracles in these situations, but that was not a known option back in 1967.

So picture this
I have a white padded strapless bra. It’s showing above the top of the dress, so I chop off the exposed white bits before I head to the dance. But over time, the bra creeps up. I look down and see white fluff inching its way to visibility.

Not to worry. I run down to reception to borrow a pair of scissors to trim off more of the bra. And push the fluff back into place. You can see how black duct tape would have saved me a lot of grief.

Then back up to dinner (and later the dance). Can you guess what they served for dinner?

I sure didn’t see spaghetti and crusty rolls coming! But there they were. I couldn’t afford to lean forward and expose the white bra and fluff, so I sat bolt upright as I twirled my spaghetti on my fork.

About 10 minutes in to this fiasco, my date (yeah, we had to invite a date) said Look down. My velvet chest was blanketed in bread crumbs. I nearly choked. Okay, Peggy, be nonchalant. Don’t raise your hands to brush off the crumbs. Just tilt your head a bit forward and blow them off. Of course, that manoeuvre sent them airborne across the table.

Time for another quick trip to reception to trim off yet more of the padded bra.

No wonder the hotel reception people kept asking if I was OK. Perhaps they thought every time I asked to borrow scissors might be my last request. 

Of course reception was on ground floor and the dance was on the mezzanine. The hotel didn’t have a lift between those floors. So every time I started up the stairs there would be a couple of guys at the top calling out She’s coming up the stairs again! Followed by a stampede to the top of the stairs.

Still I’ve forgotten a lot about that night. I can’t remember the name of my date; couldn’t even pick him out of a police line-up. I don’t remember what band played or what we had for dessert.

A year later
But I will never forget what happened about a year later. That’s when I stopped in Lincoln, Nebraska, to visit my friend, Linda. I was wearing a ratty old track suit. Linda introduced me to her new boyfriend, Bill. He jumped up to shake hands and say hello. Then he said, ‘Oh hey, I know you. Didn’t you wear a low-cut black dress at the Chi Omega Cotillion?’

I almost fainted. All I could say was, wow you recognise my face!

P.S. Maybe someday I’ll tell the story of wearing a slightly low-cut t-shirt to the local pizza place when I was asking for prize donations for the school trivia night.