Dear Car of Jerks Who Saw My Panties

Marilyn Monroe

Dear car of jerks who saw my panties,

It’s hot in Texas, ok. And when it’s that hot, I wear skirts and dresses. It’s too damn hot for jeans, ok?? Ok??!! And you know something else, occasionally, like yesterday, it also gets a bit windy. And when it gets windy a skirt may be inclined to move in a way that isn’t intended. For example, when the wind blew my skirt up yesterday and you saw my panties. I had no control over that. Just so we are clear, you would certainly not have been the ones I would choose to show my panties to. Got it?

And yes, you may detect an angry tone in this letter. I am angry. Not because you saw my panties. But because you didn’t, at the very least, buy me dinner first. And even though you only got to see them accidently, I think you should have pulled over and offered to buy me dinner after it happened. It’s common courtesy. And sure, I can understand that pulling over may have been problematic considering you were driving and definitely over 85, but I’m just saying I expect more of you. And I think I should say, in all fairness, that even had you bought me dinner, I probably wouldn’t have showed you my panties. But that doesn’t negate the fact that you did get to see my panties, even if it was accidental, and you absolutely should have offered me dinner in exchange. Maybe they didn’t teach you that “back in the day” but in this day and age you owe a lady a dinner if you get to see her panties. (Except in the case when you’ve paid to see her panties ala Sixteen Candles) You guys are a bunch of pervs. I don’t care if you are 85, you’re still a perv. So, I guess what I’m really mad about is two things.

1. I didn’t get a free meal.

2. You acted too excited to have seen my panties accidently.

I mean, if you weren’t going to offer to pay for a meal then you should have had the decency not to look so thrilled to have gotten a glimpse of my panties. You could have acted like you didn’t ย see anything. Laughing and clapping was not an appropriate response. And, it was mildly insulting. At least, the laughing was. The clapping was actually flattering. Compliments aside, I do NOT appreciate you acting outside the laws of common human decency. You owe me a dinner you dirty old pervs!

Hope this finds you in good health,

GotC

P.S. If it turns out you will be dying soon, because you are so old, I will waive the dinner fee. I’m just really glad to have made your last days so special. You’re welcome.

14 thoughts on “Dear Car of Jerks Who Saw My Panties

  1. That stinks and especially by oldies!!! Gasp! The horror. Just think… old people are slow drivers. The sign says 35 they are going 20! If the sign the says 70 they are going 45.
    They saw everything!!!!

  2. Even if you had on a pair of those parachute laundry day granny panties they’re used to seeing, they would clapped and laughed with excitment. They haven’t seen an vagina since 1976. So, you can understand their excitment at the prospect of almost seeing a vagina. Cut them some slack.
    I say you go back tomorrow and flash them a bra covered boob. That will hold them them over until nap time.

  3. lol, see while I was reading this I was thinking of your PS statement, where you likely made their day and perhaps they kealed over from the excitement of it all ๐Ÿ˜‰

    You are far braver than I, I don’t do dresses or skirts for many reasons, but that one is high up on the list!

  4. i was wasn’t laughing. i was clapping with enthusiasm and appreciation that a delicate flower of youth would gladly quicken the heart rate of a senior citizen with such a selfless gesture.

    honestly.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s