Today, I was working with three docs whom I do not know very well. Two are older men, the third is a young (younger than me, I’d guess) woman. They are all gynecologists. The woman is very nice, has quite a considerate, concerned bedside manner. You can tell she works hard for her patients. Down-to-earth, approachable, reasonable (for a doctor). She speaks softly and with an earnest tone. She is also very pretty, tall, with a very nice figure. She dresses professionally, if maybe the slightest bit behind high fashion. Conservatively. She wears no wedding ring, but I know little else of her personal life. Except what kind of underwear she wears.
Today she came to clinic dressed quite respectably in tweedy pants and a short-sleeved shirt. Everything fit well, she looked nice. Then she sat down at a computer. She is the type who leans forward with her elbows on her knees when she is speaking to someone. It is probably a mannerism which contributes significantly to her likability. In any case, when she leaned forward, her shirt rode up and exposed a strip of skin at the small of her back, which was decorated with a lovely, lacy, black thong.
Now, I never pegged her for a thong type. She has spent her life living down a fluffy name, which may or may not have contributed to her choice of profession and the apparently young age at which she achieved her current status. But this was definitely thong – I could see the source of the lace. It was neither modest nor conservative. In fact, it was so skimpy (or maybe her pants were) that you could see skin below the panties.
Now, I don’t know if she realized how exposed she was; as I said, she never seemed the exhibitionist type. And considering her taste in clothing is just a tiny bit off-fashion, I must say I would be surprised to find that she’d planned it that way. But how could you not know? And how could you take yourself seriously if you knew your underwear was out in the world for all to see? I mean, we’re mortified when we discover our fly down; how is this different?
I’m all for having some fun with clothes, and I confess to owning some funky underwear. But there are few, if any, people in the world who get to see it. When I wear it, it’s my little secret, and none of anyone’s damn business. There is a reason that they are referred to as “unmentionables”. Visible underwear is distracting, especially in the workplace, and, at least for me, not in a good way. Maybe if I was of a different gender or persuasion, I would think otherwise. But tell me, honestly, would you get anything productive done?
I offer a message to the perpetrators of the fashion crime now being called the Whale Tail. Come on, people. It’s gross. I don’t really want to know what you wear down there, and I certainly don’t want the general public to see what I wear (mostly because the cute stuff is so uncomfortable that I wear the old-lady stuff – there, now you know). It’s tacky. It’s tasteless. I mean, what’s the point? It’s so trampy…Oh, wait… I just figured out the point… I’m so square.