Bare-arsed cheek

I was sitting in the bar sipping my Americano when a young woman asked if she could share my table. Of course I didn’t mind, and she duly dumped her bags and slipped off her jacket, slinging it over the low seat opposite. But then instead of sitting down, she turned and strode towards the ladies loo.

Imagine my astonishment when, from the corner of my eye, I caught the pale wobble of naked flesh. A quick look confirmed the astonishing reality that this girl appeared not only to be sans skirt, but sans knickers too. Crickey, I thought, I’ve forgotten my coat before, but never my trousers and under-crackers.

I exchanged bewildered glances with the couple at the next table, and waited to see if perhaps the girl, having noticed her error, an “oh Lord. I’m not wearing my pants” moment, would emerge from the bathroom having rectified her mistake in some way, perhaps by wrapping herself in toilet paper.

It turned out, she was wearing a pair of those flappy culottes shorts, pulled up rather high, and presumably had only skimpy undies on underneath. Well of course then you think, does she know what she looks like from the rear? Should I mention it? How would that sound?

“Did you realise you have a bare bottom?”

She might fly into a self-righteous rage: “You old pervert, how dare you slut shame me.” I kept my mouth shut, after all a woman should be able to wear what she likes without drawing the male gaze. Except that in a bar room setting, a bare arse is the common denominator.

Actually, I was more irritated by the fact that she kept sniffing, but to cut a long story short, she finished her coffee and left. As I watched her buttocks beat their swishing retreat, I felt quite sorry for her. She’s either so naive that she doesn’t realise how inappropriately dressed she is, I thought, or she thinks that this is a sexy look. What can I say? It wasn’t – I scored her at three.  

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