(Catch part 1 of the ‘Dwear Saga)
Later in July 2012, my husband’s band was playing at a local bar and I saw a group of women come in, and yeah, I don’t think they were wearing underwear, even the quite pregnant one in the skintight dress (she looked fabulous, by the way).
And then, then I took a ride on the Jet Express. I’d heard it was the party boat to the islands, but I thought heading over at 3 in the afternoon was safe enough. Not so fast, Abernathy.
There were families on the boat, adults of all ages, a “bachelor” party or two (they had it hand-scrawled on their t-shirts) along with groups of young, nubile women.
The “bachelor” party guys kept calling up girls who willingly flashed their wares and did a lap dance or two. In front of all of us. My little Indiana jaw dropped.
Then, in the middle of the show, one of the guys went over to the side of the boat, near the front, the boat that was traveling about 35 knots, and spit his tobacco juice into the wind. Which sprayed all over those of us on that side. Yep, a show AND a souvenir to wear for the rest of my time on the island.
And while Put-In-Bay is a family atmosphere during the day, the closer you get to Happy Hour, the more it becomes an adult playground, an underwear-optional kind of place.
Later, I did some calculations. After partying on the island, many of those party-goers take the last boat back. And it’s less than a block from the quick-care place.
Are you getting the picture? That intern probably learned quickly to ask that question. “You are wearing underwear?”
‘Dwear, Part 3
Every year on St. Paddy’s Day, my Scotch Irish husband wears his kilt, and though close friends have joked with him, asking if he’s wearing underwear, no one checks.
Until now. This year a woman in the bar asked, “Are you wearing underwear?” And then, when his back was turned, she lifted up his kilt, snapped a photo and sent it out on twitter.
I’ll never tell.
Stay tuned for tomorrow’s ‘Dwear Saga finale.