What you wear under your skirt, hardly ever crosses your mind once you step out the door. What ever you’ve got under there usually feels like enough until, you know, it isn’t. I don’t care what style of panties you prefer to wear (or even if you’d rather go bare), but chances are a few inches of fabric will hardly seem like enough when the wind starts blowing your way.
I had the perfect opportunity to pull off a Marilyn Monroe, and I blew it. Last summer, during an impulsive trip to meet my best friend in Paris, a group of us were taking a midsummer’s night stroll through the City of Light searching for a pub that was miles away. Excuse me, kilometers away. Not too far into our mini-tour of the city, did I find myself, skirt to the sky, above a grate. With an expression that evoked more of a deer caught in headlights than pouty pin-up plastered across my face, I tried unsuccessfully to get off the obscenely large vent. Like a panicked mime I was spinning around in frantic circles unable to save face. Luckily, my new Parisian friend coolly pushed me aside to safety, thus saving my ass from further embarrassment.
This would have been significantly less cringe-worthy had I been towards the back of the pack. Of course, I wanted to be the first to set my sights on the pub and decided to take the lead. Not only did I need to turn back and repeatedly ask “Straight ahead? Right? Left?” like an insecure, directionally challenged tourist, but my derrière flashed in front of my best friend, her friends and her then-boyfriend. Obviously, everyone is listed from least to most embarrassing person to flash respectively.
You got me, Paris, you got me. Next time, if we could avoid doing this in front of my best friend’s future boyfriend/beau/boo thang, I’d really appreciate it. Pitié.