This morning I had to walk by some construction workers. Call me old-fashioned but I get uncomfy at the mere prospect of passing construction workers up ahead. The “Men at Work” sign makes me break out into a frozen sweat. Let me qualify.
photo courtesy of Flickr and General Wesc
As a female specimen, I’m not in the beauty-invasion-gams-from-outer-space category wherein I am catcalled even by inanimate objects. And I am also not in the category where I wear a giant paper bag over my head and torso so that people will not even think to acknowledge me as a fellow human. I’m in the regular ole could-go-either-way-depends-what-day-and-who’s-lookin’ category.
To complicate things further, as for fashion sense, my only rule is that I always buy pants bigger than the size I wear. It’s a weird thing I have. So my pants are almost always in the process of, or already, falling down (in minimal increments, don’t get all excited!)
So my underwear is, 8 out of 9 times, probably noticeably showing* (hence my affinity for wearing dresses over pants, and you thought I was being bohemian).
Girl underwear (i.e., panties) exposure is a Pavlovian bell for hetero-males since the time of cave playgrounds and Stone Age recess (i.e., I see London, I see France, I SEE DEM PANTIES, GRRRRRL!!!)
So whenever I see construction workers, my Pavlovian response is to pull my pants up all the way to my chin. The epitome of ladylike behavior! If I’m feeling extra sensual, I follow it up with a jovial crotch itch.
And whenever construction workers yip nonsense at me, I know it’s because they saw some little butt clouds or whatever cutesie design I have starring in that day’s sidewalk booty parade.
Let’s be real. I am no better than the average bum clown!
*Yeah, I know about belts; I just keep forgetting to wear them. Plus, just to show off, I would probably end up looking like these guys!
Also on Tuesday, the power was out at work so we got an impromptubular holiday! What did I do? I cleaned my room. I had to make good on a punishment rendered upon me years ago!
I also took a nap and felt sorry for myself. So it evened out? I realize now I might have been duped by my ne’er-do-well alterego, What the Craparna.