I was sitting at the breakfast table mulling over topics for today’s post when it happened. To be honest, I wasn’t particularly shocked. I’d been half-expecting something bad.
Usually by the time I get out of the shower in the morning I’ve got some ideas for a blog post, but this week nothing funny had happened. I hadn’t fallen off an exercise ball or dropped a dumbbell on my face at the gym. I hadn’t misread anything that made me go, “Wait, what?” and I hadn’t blurted out anything incriminating or even slightly inappropriate.
That made me nervous. I figured the universe must be saving up something truly dire for me.
I was right.
I’d made it all the way to the breakfast table without inspiration, and I was staring blankly out the window when the woman from several doors down emerged from her house with her little dog. Nothing unusual about that, but apparently there was something on her driveway this morning. So she bent over to pick it up.
Bent deeply at the waist.
She was wearing a short nightdress.
Fortunately she was too far away for me to make out details, but if she was actually wearing underwear, it was the exact colour of her skin.
I looked away hurriedly, thinking she’d feel the draft and realize what was happening, but either she was happily oblivious or else she’s an exhibitionist. She puttered around for a good five minutes, turning in all directions and bending over so deeply her skirt rode up far enough for everyone to see not only London and France, but also Turkey, Pakistan, and all of Oceania.
I admit it; I laughed. It reminded me of all the other times I’ve been subjected to views I really could have done without.
A few decades ago mooning was a common sport on the highway. Back then, you knew enough not to glance over if a car pulled up beside you but didn’t pass. If you did look, you were almost certain to see a bare ass hanging out the car window. (I haven’t seen that in years, though, so I guess the seatbelt laws have been good for something.)
And of course, plumber’s butt still abounds. I’ve seen ‘way too many hairy butt-cracks burgeoning out of low-slung jeans while their owners wrestle building materials into their trucks at the lumber store. But I usually assume those are accidental.
The ones I really wonder about are the guys who wear loose-fitting shorts with no underwear. Then they sit directly across from you with a smile on their face and their junk hanging out the leg of their shorts. Okay, guys, maybe it’s nice to give the boys some air, but I can’t help thinking you’re enjoying it a little too much.
I suppose I can’t exactly criticize, though. Having inadvertently done my share of mooning I pretty much have to give everybody the benefit of the doubt, including my alfresco neighbour lady.
At least there was one good thing about getting mooned: I renewed my acquaintance with one of my old-time faves, Creedence Clearwater Revival:
P.S. I saw my neighbour again about twenty minutes later, but this time she was wearing shorts. Maybe she noticed the breeze after all…