Gotta Tell You a Story
I really am a child of the 60's and 70's. I'm a little young to be a hippie child, but I love the styles from then and couldn't be happier that they are back. The only thing I love more than the 70's styles is finding them on sale.
The temperature is still in the 90's here so today I wore a long thin cotton skirt with wide lace strips that run horizontally every 12 inches or so. I'm thinking I look like some sort of flower child/Stevie Nicks wannabe. I've got the black skirt, a black tank top, a chamois colored see-through shirt over that, my sandals, lots of beads and baubles. A little lemon grass perfume and I'm ready for my flashback. Mind you, the skirt has some of these lace see-through spots in strategic places so I wear a pair of black bike shorts under it and I'm good to go.
I go through the work day and get lots of compliments on my outfit. Can you see my head swelling? Then it's off to happy hour for one of my staff who is leaving. At the bar, I get carded at the door, a couple of guys flirt, the bartender keeps calling me sweetheart and holds my hand a little long as he hands me my change. I'm having a pretty good day. I have to meet my family at Greek Fest at the Greek Orthodox church so head out of the bar, debating whether or not I should use the bathroom before I leave. Nah.
Well, Moonbeam here gets lost on the way to Greek Fest and I've got to pee. Bad. Real bad. I'm in a strange neighborhood, but I finally see a Dairy Queen and pull in. I run in and they tell me the bathroom is around back. I run around the back, sandals flapping and skirt blowing in the breeze behind me. I'm still thinking I must be one hot earth mama. I'm doing a pee dance, but I'm still feelin' hot.
As I get to the bathroom, out comes one of our local ladies of the evening. She looks a little rough and her entire costume is a black slip and a pair of stiletto heels. Yes, lingerie. It's 6:30 in the evening, it's still light out and she's standing behind Dairy Queen wearing only a slip.
I rush into the bathroom, gather up my skirt, wrestle with my purse, pull down my bike shorts and end up dropping them to a very nasty, wet concrete floor. Eeeeeeewww! Well, I'm not about to pull them back up, I'm not wearing any underwear and I have a dilema. I button my overshirt and assure myself that it covers my butt. After I wash up, I pull a bunch of paper towels out of the dispenser and use them to pick up my shorts. As I walk back to my truck, I pass the hooker who is now standing in the parking lot, alternately licking two ice cream cones and staring at me. What's she looking at? It's off to Greek Fest.
By the time I get there the family has already eaten, which is fine with me. My sister and the kids go off to jump in all the inflatable air type toys and I wander through the bazaar with my father. Dad just had his cataracts removed and sees great now. Why is he walking so close behind me then?
We get outside and join my sister and the kids and wander over to the stage to watch the band and dancers. I'm standing at the edge of the crowd, kind of dancing with my happy feet, still thinking I look pretty festive and enjoying myself when my wicked sister shouts over the band, "You're not wearing underwear, are you?" Somehow my shirt has tucked itself up in back and the front is unbuttoned and all my goods are exposed through the lace. I cover up my happy ass and hustle myself home. As I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, I realize that I've paraded my white moonbeam butt in front of every God fearing Greek in Phoenix.
Connie
Sista, you are a hoot! You shoulda bought the hooker's slip (I'm sure she's used to running around naked) and you would have been just fine. I can just see you getting looks from little old Greek women...and your dad who probably thinks you have lost your ever lovin' mind.
Thanks for sharing your story. I'm telling you - you should be a writer. You give such a picture when you tell stories.
I love ya!
-Wendy
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