Nothing strikes the fear of G-d in me more than discovering it’s a windy day upon starting my morning commute in an easy breezy skirt. Tuesday morning was one such day, and as I was already running late, didn’t have time to run back home and change into less dangerous attire. With one hand pressed against my skirt to prevent any early morning peep shows, I bravely set out on my long 40-minute walk to work.
Five minutes later, a sudden gust of wind seemed to come to life beneath me for the sole purpose of lifting my skirt for all the men in suits walking toward me to see. And to make matters worse, I was wearing my most egregious pair of granny panties. I hadn’t done laundry in weeks, so I had no choice but to grab my old yellowed pair of panties, the cloth holding on to the waist band for dear life, the ones that could just possibly save my life if I were ever unfortunate enough to be hurtling toward the earth at a great speed, as they would surely fan out like a parachute, floating me safely to the ground.
I slammed my skirt down, making sure to grab it firmly by the sides so no sudden back wind could rush up and expose my booty. I silently congratulated myself on my quick reaction time, then froze as I caught a glance of myself in a store window: My poor choice of t-shirt selection that morning had resulted in a case of visible nipples. Instinctively, I reached up to cover my nips, which of course led to my skirt giving way. The wind lifted my skirt so high it grazed my chin, and the guys walking toward me hooted and hollered and gave thanks to the wind gods for blessing them that day ... until they saw the state of my panties. They quickly averted their eyes and put a little more gas in their step to get past me and my genormous panties that no doubt are still causing them to wake up at night in a cold sweat.
I was having similar glandular problems, as the 90-degree heat that day was causing me to sweat profusely. Salty sweat trickled into my eyes, rendering me virtually blind as I walked with one hand over my chest and one hand on my skirt. To make matters worse, the previous day I had gone into Macy's to buy a light foundation for my face. As I was making my purchase, the girl behind the counter alerted me to the fact that putting bronzing cream on my face was creating a shadow over my lip, causing me to look like I needed to set up shop next to the World’s Smallest Pony booth in the Albermarle Virginia County fair. To hide the faux 'stache, that morning I had put cover-up over my lip, which was dripping down my face and onto my nipple-exposing t-shirt.
By the time I finally got to my office, one look in the mirror had me almost turning back around. I had foundation and pit stains on my shirt, and the sweat from my walk had seeped through my skirt, exposing my granny panties. Luckily, I was the first one in; I grabbed the heating unit I keep under my desk that I run all throughout the summer and pumped it up to 11. For some reason unbeknownst to me, people in offices like to pretend they’re in the Arctic in July and August, so that when you finally step out into the sweltering summer heat after a long day of shivering and ice fishing, you develop pneumonia and die.
Luckily the heater saved the day. I was able to dry myself completely before anyone came in, so that the only embarrassments I had to deal with that day were the stains on my shirt and looking like a sideshow freak. To avoid being seen and exposing myself to any more innocent civilians, I stayed in for lunch and hailed a cab to take me home. About 5 minutes into the ride, the cabbie, a Russkie, suddenly turned around to face me and shouted, “Aunt Olga! I can't believe it's you! I thought you were still in Virginia!”