I walk across the parking lot of our local University. Feel a draft.
I smooth my skirt over my thigh. Yep, still in place.
I catch people looking at me, but I look cute, so maybe that’s it? I check my skirt again. Still there, lying flat against my skin. All is fine, I reassure myself.
I walk across the quad, past the student union and a gaggle of student athletes. You know, the popular people everyone knows, even at a moderately sized university. Football players and cheerleaders. They watch me as I pass. I don’t want them to–I would prefer to be invisible to the popular people. Every time I’ve made their radar, it’s not been for something awesome. It’s always been for something I would prefer no one find out about.
I hear whispers, and, like all shy, paranoid people, I suspect they are whispering about me. I begin blushing furiously.
They’re not talking about me. It’s the epitome of conceit to assume every time anyone whispers it’s about you. I do not have narcissistic personality disorder. Nope. It’s not about me.
But I hear giggles behind me, and can’t stop the embarrassed flush from rising to my cheeks. I run my free hand over my skirt again.
It’s still there, and covering all the important bits.
I walk toward the humanities building, so embarrassed I think I might ignite, though I don’t have the foggiest idea why. Begin to climb the stairs, when behind me, I hear a voice.
“Oh my God, Meggan, you’re gonna die.”
Of course I am.
A girl in one of my classes yanks on my skirt. Hard. So hard I’m worried it will fall from my body. Hey, it’s happened before.
And pulls it out from underneath my backpack.
I’d walked nearly a half mile with my skirt tucked up under my backpack. My skirt had felt fine because I could only check the left side. Unfortunately, it was my right butt cheek that I’d been exposing to the entire world. My right butt cheek, in pink, santiny, granny panties with a well worn elastic waistband.
Yeah, I’m that much of a fashionista. No cute thongs for me. Nope. When I go for exposure, it’s in old underwear I’m embarrassed I even own.
This is my life. I try to keep as many layers of fabric between my butt and the rest of the universe as humanly possible. I’m loath to wear a bathing suit, but stuff like this happens to my butt. Far too often for it to be accidental.
It ‘s enough to make a girl think the universe is out to get her.
Sad, but true.