Dance the night away!

tennis skirt + Windy city = new scads of people who have seen my underwear

I know, I know...we're talking the western suburbs here, Sarah; practically everyone and their mom has had a view.

But really, I'm trying to move out of that phase of my life. And by "phase" I mean, wearing pants that don't fit, thus creating display for my nice LBC.

Except for today. I underestimated today's wind-power, and decided (badly) to wear a blue tennis skirt I found in the back of my closet. The backstory on this tennis skirt is when I was 16 and 17, me and Lizzy, and sometimes Katie, would sneak out and go dancing at Zero Gravity. What bad asses! Ditching curfew to get leered at by creeps at an "all-ages" club that played the same late-night set as B96! DJ Maaarrrkkkski/Bad Boy Bill!!! But we usually wore these ridiculous tennis skirts, and New Balances, and cowboy hats, which made us stick out since everyone else was in clubwear (i.e. black outfits for the gentlemen and hooch tops from Contempo Casuals for the ladies, skirt so short it seemed optional).

Well, today I realized why we were stared at: the tennis skirts! I think I'm a bit taller now than I was in high school, but these things really don't cover your ass very well. But I never was a cheerleader so I didn't understand the benefit of knickers. Or what were those things called? That looked like underwear but weren't, and instead coordinated with school colors? Oh yeah: lollies. Or at least that was what they were called at LT.

But anywho, I walked out of the Jewel with my hands clenching my skirt since, like Marilyn in "the Seven Year Itch", it was billowing every which way but down. Plus, also adding to my idiocy was not opting for full-butt underwear: what was I thinking? Those working and shopping at Jewel, and then later outside of Bella Luna on LG Road, certainly got a view.

I should start a list of people who've seen my underwear. Actually, I don't think I should; the list is long and far-reaching, starting with Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman and ending with some G in a Pontiac Bonneville who stared at me as I tried, embarrassed, to get to my car without flashing more people.

posted by SES @ 7:24 PM