Uncoperative underwear...

If my life was ever made into a movie it would probably be a full length comedy with the lead somewhat resembling Bridget Jones. Take my first day at the journalism cadet school. Here stands polkadotgumboots, chatting politely to journalism staff and consuming canapes, as gracefully as possible, when suddenly there is an unpleasant twang. The waist band on my somewhat small underwear has snapped, I am in a dress and the offending item is now slowly slipping down my legs. I stand frozen for a moment while I contemplate my options. The room contains many of my future colleagues and superiors most of whom seem to be between me and the relative safety of the bathroom. In addition any sudden movements on my part will result in me standing sheepishly with my frilly smalls delicately sitting above my left ankle. Behind me is a bar stool that may offer just enough cover. I sidle, slowly, behind it and as nonchalantly as possible wiggle the underwear off and flick it quickly into my handbag. Success!

The day done I arrive at my accommodation thinking smugly about my discretion. The universe, however, has other plans for my dignity because as I lifted my suitcase from my car the wind flies up my skirt, revealing my naked buttocks. One surprised onlooker laughs and shouts 'Helloo there meisie... I liike what I seeee'.