Seriously?

I just had a harrowing time getting through security at the San Diego airport. I decided, in an effort to eke the last bits of that vacation feeling out of this long weekend, to wear my new, fuschia sun-dress home. (Yes, I look like a REALLY big flower right now. Eat my shorts.)

Naturally, one must be on alert while negotiating the security line. I had to get out my computer, take off my shoes, show any liquids, have my boarding pass on hand, all in about .02 seconds. I passed through in something of a breathless manner and then attempted to reload everything before the lady behind me shoved me out of the way to get at her stuff. I trotted about five feet to the side, barefoot, trying to find a place where I could get my shoes on. Leaning up against a column, I began to contend with my sandals, positioning myself in such a way as to not give passers by a free show.

Well, THAT didn't work.

Mid-buckle, a nice TSA agent came over with my forgotten sunglasses. Flustered, I reached for them as I was fastening my shoe, and the weight of my arm, apparently, disturbed my perilous balance.

And down I went.

And I mean DOWN. Sideways. And in such a way that my dress flew UP. Over my waist. In front of a very full security line. The TSA agent helped me up quickly, but not before I gave about five business men a clear view of my undies.

So, I'm at the gate now, the blush of my embarrassment slowly wearing off, wondering how it is that someone like me, who is so clearly NOT an exhibitionist, seems to show her drawers so often to complete strangers? I should start charging.

At least they were my black panties with the skulls on them. So while all akimbo, I at least looked like a bad-ass.