Exposed

My memories from this past Saturday remain in my brain as a series of five freeze frames with no coherent connection between any of them.

1. I’m lying on someone’s doorstep, curled up in the fetal position, physically unaware of my emerging hypothermia and gravity’s efforts to blanket my body with precipitation.
2. With eyes closed, I feel myself lifted from the ground by a kind, heroic stranger, who, after he opens his mouth to mock me mercilessly, identifies himself to be none other than Greg.
3. I’m on a couch and confused as to why people keep throwing pillows and blankets at me.  I’m not cold, dammit.
4. I’m crouching over a toilet, attempting to empty my insides while Greg holds my hair and Elliot takes pictures to pocket for future blackmail.
5. I’m vomiting out everything I have, still strapped into Tammy’s car by the passenger seat belt, on the side of the Boulevard.

When I finally faced Greg again yesterday — partly thankful for his existence but mostly embarrassed about the way I behaved — I argued that if he had demanded that I stand up, I would have been physically capable of doing so.  He then informed me that the reason he chose to pick me up like a baby (refer to # 2) was because my skirt was cut rather high and the position I was laying in forced my vagina to practically spill out onto the concrete.

And # 3 only occurred because my attentive friends were desperately attempting to shield my lower half with various sofa accessories; pillow, throw, cushion.

Before you run off with the image of commando Jamie flittering about all willy-nilly, I have to clarify: I was wearing underwear.  However, the type I was sporting does directly fall under the ‘Granny’ category and to top it off, there was a pad attached.

Why, God, why.  Of all the days, why couldn’t I have been wearing somewhat attractive panties?  Of the three out of four weeks I’m not caught in the middle of the menstrual cycle, why couldn’t it have been that week?  This, after all, was and probably will be the one time that my lower half will be exposed for a while.

(That last sentence was a subtle reference to the fact that 50% of the world’s population has presumably shunned me as a possible mate, if you didn’t catch it.)

I’ve learned my lesson.

Ladies, always wear nice underwear.