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. 

Love thy neighbour

Realised I am just never going to be as cool as my next-door neighbour. She knows how to party it up till dawn. I don't.

Remember my trail run? As I was leaving my flat at sparrow's fart for Constantia kitted out in running shoes, spandex and water bottle, she was only returning from her night out on the town, kitted out in heels, belt and bubbly bottle! (It was an awkward moment. I really wanted to stay and convince her that usually I'd totally still be out! But I still had to get to the shops for a banana before the race.) And then, on Friday night – after Vaudeville and Fez – I fell into bed thinking it was awfully late and what a daring diva of a party animal I now was, only to be woken a whole 2.5 hours later by the clicking of heels marching up the stairs, an inebriated giggle and the keys jiggling in her front door... I almost got out of bed, put on my heels and went back to Fez!

I wonder if we'll ever come home at the same time? I wonder if we'd hit it off? Maybe she'll invite me in for wine and we'll become best friends. And can cook hangover breakfasts together. And share wardrobes. And watch Friends and drink hot chocolate, or go for freezos...

Or maybe not.

Let's face it. I'm never going to be as cool. We wouldn't even be able to share taxis out because I'd fade at 2am and she'd still be shaking a takkie at 5!

She's probably ugly and mean anyway.