< by Jill >

I stood in the mirror, admiring my uncommonly cool ensemble: A breezy chiffon skirt, a fitted top with a sweetheart neckline, and a pair of matte gold pumps.

When my date appeared in the mirror, he gave a validating up-down and then offered up his elbow. Hand-in-elbow, we walked to the car, huddling closer as the October wind howled.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the host guided us to a deep booth with pleated leather seats. After ordering drinks, I decided to slip away to use the ladies’ room — the wind had stirred up my hair and I had nervously nibbled away all my lipstick.

In the dimly lit, powder-scented ladies’ lounge, I used the facilities, smoothed my hair, glossed my lips, and reappeared in short order.

As I walked back to our booth, heads turned. Men smiled, eyes round and shiny as nickels. Women grinned sheepishly, almost flirtatiously, tracking my every step. Feeling awesome, I raised my chin and strutted an imaginary catwalk. Everyone’s being so friendly!

Once at the booth, I leaned in and sat down. That’s when I felt it: skin-to-skin contact. Cool, soft leather against warm, bare rump. That’s when I realized it: My skirt is tucked into my undies. But it was too late.

As I straightened it out, giggles erupted throughout the restaurant. And my date, bless his heart, informed me, “You’re the butt of the joke!”