Save me Marilyn!

We all know the iconic picture of Marilyn Monroe over the vent with her skirt flying up.  It’s a image that is burned into every man’s brain.  There is something helpless, beautiful and undeniably sexy about that image…until it happens to you.

Monday was a windy day here in Knoxville Tennessee.  I don’t mean your light lovely breeze, we’re talking full gales of wind ripping down the street.  I didn’t know this when I got dressed in the morning.  The day started off rough, I over slept, I forgot my umbrella, and I forgot my wallet.  Luckily, a friend at work loaned me her card so I could run out and get some lunch.

I was wearing an army green dress with a full skirt.  I started walking and even though the wind was ripping my hair behind me, I was making headway towards Chickfila, nothing but a spicy chicken sandwich on my mind.  As I got to the door of the building an updraft lifted my skirt as I ran in the door.  I tried to keep it down but it fluttered but I managed to make it inside while only slightly flashing the street.  Whew, that was close.  No biggie.

The lovely ladies at Chickfila got me my spicy chicken sandwich and I headed out the door with some spring in my step.  Have I mentioned how much I love food?  How much I love Chickfila?  But that’s a whole different story.  I opened the door and faced the street.  As I turned to my right to head down the street, a drink in one hand and a chickfila bag in the other, a gust whipped down the sidewalk and took my full skirt skyward.  I was helpless, blinded by my skirt in my face, and my hands useless to bring it back down to earth.  I flailed like a drowning woman, my baby blue lace panties exposed to all of downtown Knoxville, like a bright blue life preserver.  I tore my arms down, barely managing to keep my front covered, and did what any good little girl would do, I put my backside to the nearest wall.  The wind was still blowing and I was starting to get frantic, there was no end in sight.  I was going to be against that wall forever.  Then, I spotted her, my angel of mercy was coming down the street.  An older woman, with a young woman beside her who was having a similar issue on a smaller scale, were headed my way.  As they came up to me the younger girl laughed and said, “Having a similar problem?”  The older woman grasped the back of my skirt and held it down, but with each step it would flutter back skyward like a bird in flight.   Finally, I managed to gather most of my skirt into one hand and turned to walk down the street.  My gaze met with a group of business men, who stood staring with something like horror in their eyes.  I tried to move past them but as I did we had to do the same dance with my skirt once again.  The leader of the group smiled widely and with a proper Tennessee drawl and a bashful smile said, “Ma’am,” and walked on.  The slow sinking in my stomach could only be that old feeling from when I was thirteen, that is called MORTIFICATION.  My face strawberry red, I gingerly began my walk back to work to take comfort in my sandwich.  I inched my way down the street, my new friends acting as my caboose, keeping my unmentionables hidden and my dignity on the sidewalk.


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