Underwear Mare

So the other day, the most shameful thing happened. Possibly even more embarrassing than my naked stint with the neighbours during the heatwave (see The Naked Truth).

As I was leaving work, I decided to do a sneaky change in the car for gym – I don't own a lock and it saves time. In the car park at work I whipped off my jeans only to find that I had forgotten to pack my gym pants. Bugger. I'd have to pop home to pick those up. Started to drive home in my knickers when realised I'd have to put my jeans back on to run up to my flat so pulled them on at the next traffic light and continued to drive home, singing my heart out to Jason Mraz's 'I Won't Give Up'.

Arrived home and hopped out car, and bumped straight into one of my neighbours – 'Hot Trainer' I call him (not to his face), since he runs training sessions in our 'garden', and is often out there in a wife beater pumping dumbbells, his biceps glistening beneath the evening sun.

As he came over to say hi, I suddenly became aware of the fact that when I pulled on my jeans in the car, I hadn't done them up!!!

SHIIIIIT

It's not like I could just suddenly do them up mid convo. So, I stood there... Literally... through a 5-minute chat.. the front of my jeans wide open, fucshia and flourescent green 'flamingo' underwear staring him straight in the face. Tried to strategically hold my hangbag over the area, but it was simply too late. I caught him glimpsing at my crotch, his eyebrow raise, before his eyes quickly darted back to mine and a half smirk appeared on his face...

There was nothing I could do.

He knew it.

I knew it.

We knew it together.


Massive pink elephant.

Or pink flamingos in my case...

Safe to say half the neighbourhood has either seen me naked or in my knickers. Great.