I’m settled in and back to my normal routine. Yesterday was mainly spent working in the office, getting on with all the usual business activity, emails, appointments to organise and plenty of admin to get through.
However, I did sneak away to the gym for a couple of hours. I always find that exercise helps me de-stress and release any tension. It’s my time. Something I am valuing more and more in my life. I think everyone should at least have an hour to themselves a day, to do what ever they want. The gym, read a book, just sit and have a coffee or even read a paper – it doesn’t really matter what it is, all I know, that for me - that hour of my time makes me a calmer and more relaxed human being.
It does me the world of good.
I worked out, sweated like a pig, and was about to exit from the gym when a girl left the changing rooms before me, she was mid 20’s and obviously had worked out quite hard too. Her legs were like jelly as she left the changing rooms– just like mine, her hair washed and still damp rested on her shoulders.
As she proceeded down the long narrow corridor that houses the changing rooms on the left and the cardio room on the right, I noticed her skirt was tucked in her very white, comfortable looking knickers.
A mistake, lets have it right ladies, we’ve all done it from time to time, but hate to admit it. Her pace was quite fast as she hurried towards the exit and the sunshine. Her legs just as pale as her knickers.
I shouted ‘excuse me, excuse me’ as I hurled myself down the long corridor to catch up but she hadn’t heard me, she was still listening to her music of choice.
She was nearing the exit and the outside world and like us all when this happens we find it mortifying, the last thing you want to do is walk aimlessly down the street totally unaware of the fact that your backside is hanging out for the whole world to see.
This happened to me a number of years ago. I was in London working and found myself walking down Bond Street, where I was to meet a prospective client for a coffee. Please remember that I had travelled from my hotel room, been on the tube, rode a number of escalators and had just walked up the 25 steps that lead up from the tube onto Bond Street.
I was feeling confident, I wore my new black dress, the sun was shining, my legs slightly tanned showed off a great new pair shoes.
All I can say is that I felt good and thought I looked good and so did everyone else…. apparently!
Everybody kept looking at me; it must have been my new dress? Maybe it was the way my dress moved as I walked, swishing around my knees as the breeze blew? Or maybe it was my new shoes? I had to admit, did look damn good.
So I carried on, confidently striding out with a new swing to my steps.
It was only when I caught sight of myself in a shop window as you do, to see what you look like in motion, did I realise that my new black summer dress was not swishing round my knees in the summer breeze, it was tucked into my knickers. Not my weekend knickers but my work ones – Nightmare!
On-lookers giggled at my realisation and horror of what I was showing. Not a pleasant sight at all, way too much skin on show and leaving very little to the imagination. I could have literally curled up and allowed the ground to swallow me whole. Unfortunately I wasn’t granted that wish!
Mortified, I quickly tugged my dress from my pants and smoothed it down over my backside, a task I should have done before leaving the hotel that morning.
I was now scarlet in colour and my cheeks burned as much as my pride pricked me.
What I found strange about this horrific experience is that no one told me – how cruel I thought and scurried along Bond Street mouse like.
So as the girl from the gym opened the doors to the outside world, I shouted again ‘Excuse me” but no joy. Her music overrode any other form of communication. Time was running out and I started to panic as I noticed a group of guys approaching. So I decided to stop her from the same embarrassment I had faced years earlier.
I dived at her, my hands now on her backside, frightening the life out of her, quickly grabbing her skirt, and yanking it away from the restrictions of her knickers.
She never spoke. I never spoke. She just starred in horror. Maybe I had stepped over the mark by physically removing her skirt from her pants. I am sure that would be classed as man handling in the legal world, no doubt?
She gave me a long and lasting stare. This was not a good stare by the way and then she was off, out into the street and never looked back.
I walked to my car, wondering if I had done the right thing?
What I did know was that I would have welcomed somebody yanking my dress from those horrible work knickers that day, instead of staring and doing nothing.
I am not sure if the girl from the gym thought I had done a good thing or a bad thing?
But I believe I did the right thing…….What do you think?
No comments:
Post a Comment