It was a typical hot summer night. Please remember I don’t do well in heat. Summer clubbing meant people asking me if I was alright. People brought me napkins and asked if I wanted to go outside. One time, stranger men actually rubbed ice on me…
Anyway, this particular story, my friends and I were barhopping, but our last stop included a guy with a fishbowl of liquor.
Yes, I said a fishbowl.
He was my favorite person ever.
No, I have no idea who he was.
He was great though, because he shared his fishbowls of liquor over and over, which was quite a kindness for red, hot, sweaty Joeys.
And we danced all night.
Potty break, fishbowl style:
First, I opened the wrong door, wherein one of my friends was decidedly having the standing-up sex, with the bouncer, in the broom closet of the club. Whoa! Rock on, but I gotta pee!
I found the right door, went into the stall, shut the door, hiked up my dress, sat down, and peed. Ahh.
Somethin kinda felt warm and weird between my legs. Somethin wasn’t quite right.
I reached down to feel…
to feel my peed-in panties…
my peed-in panties still on.
No big deal. I just shoved them into the sanitary bin and went back to dancing with the fishbowl guy.
However, once we got in the car to go home, I forgot I didn’t have the panties on. As I sat, sprawled out in the heat, slouched into the backseat, legs straddling the humps, bitching about how hot it was, and why it was stupid that, I, the passenger, could not take a fishbowl of liquor home, my friends turned around to tell me to quit my bitching, and then gasped at the sight of my unpantied who-hah.
I had forgotten. I thought they were laughing at the red-faced sweaty mess I had become. I have terrible friends, most of them are gorgeous creatures who look great when they “glisten” in the hot summer sun. I look more like I am suffering heatstroke and the only thing that holds up is my hair, which gets bigger and stranger as the night rolls on.
“Jolene Michael! Where are your panties?!?”
“Oh. My. God! Close your legs!”