Last night I met my ex-coworker….let’s call him…..John….for drinks at The Speakeasy. Confident in his masculinity, John joined me in drinking a pink Ruby Slipper. And then another, which resulted in the following conversation:
John: So you know when you were my boss…the first few years of working with you I couldn’t even talk to you. Because you were The Boss, and I always thought you’d yell at me or I’d be in trouble in some way. But then you did something about 5 or 6 years ago that totally changed my opinion of you.
Me: Uh oh.
John: I can’t tell you now.
Me: You have to now. What happened?
John: I saw your butt.
Me: Um….in jeans?
John: No. In nothing. Well, in stockings.
Me: Please let there be an earthquake right now.
John: Remember that time when we were doing a fundraiser at the Arkley Center, and you were carrying all this stuff in across the parking lot, and you stepped on your skirt and it fell down around your ankles.
Me: A fire would work too. John! There was nobody around. Nobody saw that!
John: I saw it.
Me: No. I looked around. NOBODY SAW IT.
John: I had just pulled up behind you.
Me: Aaaaargh (It’s hard to speak when your face is buried in your hands.)
John: No, it was good.
Me: How could this possibly be good? My mom always warned me about wearing underwear. Why didn’t I listen? Any natural disaster will do, god.
John: Really, it was good, because, you see….I realized right at that moment that you weren’t intimidating. You were just a person, just like me, and sometimes you accidentally show your butt.
Me: Sweet 10-pound-chocolate baby Jesus please make him stop. Um…thanks?