So I’m sitting outside a cafe on University Avenue in no-longer very tony Palo Alto and this woman walks by… you know the type… what some would describe as a long cool drink of water.
Her long, straight blonde hair swings in rhythm against her tanned arms, bare in her sleeveless linen shirt. Her slim figure is perfectly clad in a pair of thin, pale yellow linen slacks, and I watch her walk by, hating her perfection…watching her walk away and thinking “what cheek (no pun intended) to be so obviously wearing no underwear with that flimsy linen”…
And then I see it.
Oh, she has underwear on alright.
Her slim, retreating “look at my ass swaying I’m-not-wearing-any-underwear” illusion is shattered as your eyes trace inward from the zenith of each unrestrained cheek jiggling beneath the surface of the linen, only to be brought up sharp by the appearance of a thick black line going up the crack of her focal point, terminating at the thick black elastic waist band of her….
Thong.
What, I ask. Is the point?
Isn’t the point of a thong to be not observable?
Apparently not.
Perhaps you should have snapped her thong – just to get your point across.
Oh boy i wish i were there?