This Thursday I found myself finishing up lunch at Willy’s Mexicana Grill, a chain of restaurants on the same model as the uber-franchise Joe’s Southwest Grill and the only place I’ve found a soft taco that uses diced cabbage as a topping (think: slaw-taco). As I stood up to discard my napkins in a nearby trash can I felt a weird sensation on my backside, just below my belt. It was some kind of movement, which definitely wasn’t the correct sensation to be having along my backside in a restaurant full of people…
But it was only a passing sensation.
I gathered my book, my spare napkins, my cup and my basket and sidestepped down along the area where the drink machines are located, doing a do-si-do with a group of people who were doing the same thing as me; dumping their garbage and getting a refill to take out. In the midst of my polite head-bobbing and side-stepping I felt that sensation again, but this time it was around the sides of what can only be properly referred to as my ass.
It was definitely a sliding sensation… a sliding sensation that grew stronger as I walked toward the exit. I felt like whirling around to see if anyone was watching me but I knew that the next two minutes would be my biggest challenge and my concentration was now trained on the perimeter defenses of my posterior. Drawing near to the door my attention was diverted for a split second on a handmade sign begging people not to throw away the plastic baskets that the serve their food in… the sign said “Save Our Baskets!!”
“Save my ASS!!” was one of several phrases that sprang to mind as I reached to push the door open, completely missing the handle, ending up shoving it clumsily with the back of my hand, fingers splayed wildly. If anyone noticed my reckless retreat from the restaurant then they might also have noticed the growing mass evenly distributed around my thighs…
You see, my boxers were sliding off.
The only thing that would stop them was the crotch of my slacks and I have to tell you that I’ve never had a sensation like it before in my life… it was like safe exhibitionism or something. It wasn’t anything like “going commando”, I’ve done that enough times to know the difference. As I passed the overly sensitive automatic doors to the mini Office Depot in that shopping center I felt the boxers make the final slide down around the subtle curve of my mini butt-cheeks and into a bunch around pocket level.
There was nothing I could do to stop it, and there was nothing I could do to fix it… at least not right away because there was a somebody parked in a truck next to my car. This wasn’t going to be your typical underwear lift, no, it was going to require me to jam my hands way, way, way down inside my pants and it just wasn’t something that I felt up to doing with an audience.
it would have to wait for me to get back down underground into the safety of our parking garage. The entire way back to the office I sat with my boxers crammed into my crotch, feeling somehow far more exposed that when I’ve gone commando.