We’re not talking figuratively, here. If I talked about how many times I’ve figuratively showed my ass, this would be a never ending dialogue and y’all would get bored.
These are the times I’ve literally showed my ass.
I’m willing to talk about many things. I’m not afraid to show my flaws. I embrace my motherfucking flaws. HAHAHFUCKINGHAHA. Maybe not. But I’m trying.
I’m kind of a prude. I come from a long line of prudes. We don’t show an abundance of skin and we don’t talk about sex. We certainly do not show our asses.
Since I am me, however, I have shown my ass a few times on accident.
At my old job, I showed my ass to the same guy twice. I was the director at IT at the time and Butch worked for me as the operations manager. Since we were management, we had the privilege of parking along the fence next to our building instead of the parking lot. We both got to work at the same time one morning and I was wearing a sundress. A gust of wind came by at the most inopportune time and it lifted my dress to above my waist line.
Butch: Nice pink panties.
Me: Never speak of this again.
Then a few months later, I wore a skirt with two layers and somehow managed to tuck the inside layer into my panties. Butch is the one who alerted me to my wardrobe malfunction.
Butch: Why do you keep showing me your panties?
Me: I have no idea. Never speak of this again.
He teased me about it for years. This is the same guy who I was talking to on the phone while reading an email from Randy. I wasn’t really paying attention and just wanted to get off the phone and I accidentally told him I loved him. I never heard the end of that one, either.
Then there was the incident at my current job.
First of all, I never wear thongs. I own a few, but I don’t wear them because I am not a fan of the sensation one gets while wearing butt floss. However, there are days when the laundry fairies are lazy assholes and my only choice is commando or thong.
I was betrayed by my favorite jeans. I loved these jeans. They gripped my bubble butt in the most flattering way, they didn’t cut in anywhere, they were faded to the perfect shade of blue. They were the perfect jeans.
Back then, I was still going out to lunch with my coworkers. I rarely went out to lunch with my group in the IT department, but I often went with the tech support guys. I even remember where we ate that day. It was Bob Evans. I am not a fan of Bob Evans, but the dynamic of the group dictated that everyone got to take a turn deciding. I like it so much better when I just always get my way.
In all times I’ve told this story, I’ve never mentioned this part, but I knew there was a problem when I got out of my coworker’s pick up truck. I felt a breeze. Just the faintest of breeze. It was so faint that my brain decided that where my mind was going was too horrifying and we would just go ahead and pretend we felt nothing.
Then I got back to my desk. My office chair is a pretty nice chair. It’s got a high back and arms and is covered in this kind of nubbly material. I realized that as I sat there, I could feel way too much of the chair.
No. No my pants did not split. On the only fucking day I’ve worn a thong in a year.
Fuck. Not these jeans. I love these jeans.
Besides, my pants didn’t split.
Goddammit. My pants are split.
Okay, just pull your shirt down as far as you can and get to the bathroom.
Y’all, I expected there to be a little tear. I was beyond lying to myself, I was prepared to accept that I had a tear. A small one. What I found was, the left side of my jeans fucking split from the waist down to the thigh. My actual ass was touching the nubbly material on my chair. My actual ass is what felt the breeze when I got out of my coworker’s truck.
I startled the shit out of a girl in the bathroom. I thought I was alone and hadn’t heard anyone come in. When I took my jeans off and discovered how huge the rip actually was, I screamed ‘fuck’ and a couple other things that I don’t remember. It turned out okay because I was able to send her on a quest to find a sewing kit. I barely know this girl yet given the situation was comfortable enough to tell her to not come back without a sewing kit. I didn’t care if she had to go buy one, just get me the goddamn kit.
I don’t really sew ever, so after spending 15 minutes trying to thread a needle, I was able to sew up my traitor jeans in a jagged gash up my left ass cheek.
Still better than showing actual ass.
I’m positive none of the tech guys noticed. If they had noticed they would have made me so miserable I would have quit this job a few years ago.
You know, maybe it would have been better if they had seen my ass.
It has been a few years since the last time I showed my ass. I fully expect it to happen again. As I said earlier, because I am me.