k. rang me at 4.45 this afternoon.
"Where are you? It sounds noisy."
I told her, "Waiting for the bus."
"What time do you get off work??"
"Today? Now, it would seem."
The conversation continued on in this diverting manner as I trundled down the Terrace and alighted at the walkway to the bus station. I stopped in a rather breezy spot to chat away as commuters passed to and fro. I'd been there for about 5 minutes when a girl passing me from behind tapped me on the shoulder and told me that the back of my skirt had blown up in the wind.
I sort of laughed and felt around, trying to locate the skirt in the general bumular region. Another girl walked past and I asked her, "Is it up around undies level?" She looked at me and without any attempt at stemming my embarrassment laughed and said, "Schyeah! And some."
I finally got the fly-away material under control only to hear k. say, "Don't worry. It's not like anybody will remember your face."