So, I went to a free outdoor show (the Yeah Yeah Yeahs—outside before dark is not the best time to see them, I think) near City Hall in Boston with my boyfriend and some of his friends. We listened to the music, people watched, and outfit critiqued (people should know that most 80s fashions did not look good on most of us then, and they do not look good on most of us now). One friend spied a young woman sitting not very prettily, and I told the story of how I’d seen a woman hop a fence after the fireworks one Fourth of July only to have her skirt catch on a post and come off. She hadn’t been wearing any underpants. It got the usual laugh.
OK, this looks pretty cute here. But remember, she is a model. She's really tall. She's really thin. Don't you remember what this looked like on you?
After the show, we were walking behind the crowd to get to the North End for some food. We stepped over a grate, and, little did I know, the grate had amazing gusts of air blowing out of it. I was wearing a skirt. The kind of skirt that apparently shoots straight up in the air when it is hit from below by gusts of wind. Me not being Marilyn Monroe, my skirt did not blow up in a playful, coy, or sexy way. As the playground chant goes, people saw London. People saw France. People saw my orange skull underpants.
These are the offending pair
For a couple of seconds, I was in complete shock as the wind continued to suspend my skirt up over my head. I then realized what was happening, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to proceed. Thankfully, a friend intervened and pulled me to safety. She was laughing hysterically, trying to feign concerned for my dignity. My boyfriend was staring at me, unsure of what to do.
OK, I processed. I was in a city, at a concert, with lots and lots of people milling around, and my skirt blew over my head, exposing my underwear to anyone walking by. A small part of me that is still in junior high was screaming “Run! Run! Get out of here! Everyone is looking at you! They saw your gigantor butt! Your boyfriend and all of his friends saw you make a fool of yourself! Hide!”
But I’m not in junior high anymore. And I love my orange skull underpants. OK, people were pointing and laughing, but it was a hoot. I about collapsed in hysterical laughter. The friend who saved me gave me a high five. My boyfriend gave me a hug and laughed. I took a bow, and we walked on.
Realizations: (1) I am so glad I am no longer in junior high. Those eighties fashions looked awful on me. (2) Always wear cool underwear.