Rant: My Troublemaking Thong
I wore a bright, cute dress to work today. It's warm out, so I opted for no pantyhose and some cute sandals, which meant that I had to put some panties on. Okay, I didn't necessarily have to, but I felt it prudent. That was my first mistake.
It wasn't exactly a decision over which I ruminated at length, but I chose my pink and white zebra stripe thong. Now, this thong has not previously given me trouble, but there must have been something about its own composition and the fabric of my dress that caused it to consistently wedge itself further up my ass than I ever though humanly possible, making me feel as if my bottom were being split in the two for the purposes of becoming someone's rump roast. This was not a welcome occurrence. I was sitting at my desk, wriggling and yanking in agony, when a flash of light bulb bright brilliance lit my skull. My co-worker, with whom I share an office, is not in today. Why not just wiggle out of that pesky thong beneath the visual barrier of my desk? No one would be the wiser, and I would be in commando induced bliss.
I began to inch the skirt of my dress up just enough to get a handle on my skimpy zebra, all the while keeping an ear to the noises from by boss's office. I could hear her on the phone, so I figured I would have plenty of time to seal the deal and stuff those offending panties into my purse without notice. I inched the left side of the thong down over my thigh and was intently working on the right side when I heard the clearing of a throat. It wasn't mine. I froze in mid-removal, my right thigh completely bare all the way up to my hip, part of my ass visible to sweeten the pot, my pink and white zebra thong clearly in evidence, my left hand under my skirt. The throat clearing individual was my boss. Apparently, her phone call was over and now she was partaking in the new adventure of watching me wiggle my thong down over my thighs. I stared at him for a split second and began stuttering, my thong, thigh and hand still in her line of sight.
I decided that it would be best to complete the task at hand while attempting to explain to my redfaced supervisor why on earth I seemed to be having such an intimate interaction with my self during office hours. I deftly pulled the thong down over my legs, and held it up, sheepfaced, just as our Executive Director entered the room behind my supervisor. At least he's gay, so the scene wasn't titillating for him.
I'm trying not to be embarassed, but I think my boss has now told everyone in the office, so not only do they know what she saw, but they also know that my cooch is now hanging around sans coverage, and that's a bit of info I would rather have kept on the down low (no pun intended). On the upside, at least my preternatural perma-wedge issue has been solved.