Shamrock my Ass...

Ok, so it really was a shamrock on my ass.

Besides being a rather popular Irish holiday, St. Patrick's Day holds something else for me.

Every year for the last couple of years, I get bombarded with calls asking me if I have my shamrock silk panties on.

Yes, you read that right. I had about 5 messages on my cell phone, and spoke personally to about 4 more about the status of my panties. Lord only knows how many of these messages are on my home phone, as I decided to blog for you, my dear readers, instead of checking it.

I'm sure you are all probably wondering why the hell all these people are interested in my panties, right?

Here we go. So for work I do a lot of community service type stuff. Part of this is being in some of the parades in Chi-town and the like.

I'm pretty sure the more clever of you can see where this is heading.

St Pat's is a big deal in Chi-town. Huge parade (actually two), they die the Chicago river green, and we all get drunk. Good times.

So a couple of years ago I was getting ready for the annual St. Pat's parade, the main one that goes downtown, not the cool real St. Pat's parade on the south side. Anyway, my niece was going with me, and she talked me into wearing my lil Irish Catholic girl skirt, as she had one to and wanted to wear it.

What did I wear under it? Ok, everybody all together now. SHAMROCK PANTIES!!

So we jump on the train to head to where our float is. A group of mid-twenty-ish guys were already drinking their fair share of green beer, and they shouted, "Look! Cheerleaders! Cool!!!" I just gave them my best cool blonde stare and said, "We are Irish Catholic Girls, you putz." "Look Irish Catholic Girls! Cool!" I should have known then just what kind of day I was in for.

We get to the float, and the parade is about to start. They needed people to pass out these nice little chocolate bars wrapped in our company logo, and my niece and I were nominated. "You are in better shape then us," one of the guys explained.

What the fuck did that matter? The parade isn't that long. I soon learned that it mattered a lot, seeing how we were one of the first people in the parade.

You see, when you aren't behind any of the bands or performers, it goes really, really fast. They also don't allow you to throw candy, so you have to actually hand it to people. Chicago's finest were lining the streets to be sure of this, and I really didn't think my work would appreciate it if I was arrested, especially since the parade is televised.

Yes, televised. I'm sure you can really see where this is going now, eh?

So I'm trying to hand out candy to people and keep up with our float that seems like it is going about 100 miles an hour. I heard one of the guys yelling my name, and it sounded really far away. It was really far away, the float that is. I began to run to try and catch up.

My niece was also hauling ass on the other side, all the while people screaming at us for candy. Fuck the candy, the parade was rounding the last stretch, and we'd be left behind if we didn't jump on the float.

So we are running, and as we pass the judging stand, a nice little Chi-town breeze (i.e. tornado like gust) lifted up the back of my skirt.

No biggie right? A few people might have seen my cute little shamrock panties, but with the excitement of the parade and everything that was going on most people wouldn't have noticed. We got to our float just in time to truck down Michigan Ave.

Oh to be wrong on so many levels sucks really bad. As we were settling in to have our first green beer, my cell phone rang. It was The Mystery Man. "Nice shamrocks sweetie!"

What the hell? He was in California. I looked around to see if maybe he had come to Chi-town to surprise me. No, that didn't make sense as he'd never do something so public. "What are you talking about??" I asked him.

"I was watching the parade on W-G-N. The camera man has good taste. He had the camera on you while you were running by, and kind of got a nice shot of your ass as your skirt blew up."

No fucking way. But yes, way.

My handy dandy cell phone rang a couple of other times, one time was just my brother laughing hysterically.

In fact, my best friend's hubby actually taped the fucking thing, and he has edited the tape of me running with the whole skirt blowing up to "Chariots of Fire."

At least I wasn't wearing my shamrock thong....Boy am I glad I work out...It could have been a lot worse I suppose. :)