Velvet in Dupont 13 Nov 2008 5:13 pm
If there is even the remotest possibility that as an adult, you may become a teacher at a very hoity-toity Connecticut private school where the famous of the famous send their children for a high quality education, you might want to consider not starring in your own personal rendition of the Great American Strip Off, no matter how far away you are from home.
Let’s bring it back to 1996. My high school friend, K, and I went to a party in New York City. Someone rented out a bar in Union Square for a bash. At some point during the evening, I left and K decided it would be funny to take off her underwear in the bathroom and then rejoin the party and hand them to her boyfriend. Unfortunately, when she exited the bathroom, the heel of her shoe slid across a particularly slippery and freshly waxed floor and K went tumbling to the ground showing everyone a particularly slippery and freshly waxed vagina. Also very unfortunate was that she was wearing that dress of the mid 90’s. You remember it. You saw it on those girls in Queens whose boyfriends had neon lights under their cars - hoochie, tight, spandex, - not the kind that just floats back down to its original location.
K tried desperately to pull her dress down to cover her goods, but the debacle resulted in a Sunday morning phone call to me where she said, “Everyone saw my cooch!”
I actually didn’t believe her. I thought she was making it up for the comedic effect. And who could blame her? Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?
However, six months later, we were at a bar drinking the night away with Connecticut’s finest. In walked a man who I knew from an old temp job I had out of college. I said hello and introduced him to K. He looks her up and down, smiles and says, “Yeah, I remember you. You were at that party in the city that night…panties in your pocket.” K turned beet red. Then she turned to me and said, “That guy saw my cooch!”
What K doesn’t know is that this was the source of much comedy in my family. The other night after I came home from our reunion, my dad said, “Was cooch there?” I think that will forever be her name in my parents house, which isn’t so bad considering they can’t remember to open the garage door before backing out. No. I’m not kidding about that…
And speaking of the reunion the other night, K said, “There’s a postscript to that story by the way.” I said, “Yessss?”
“That guy is married and has a kid now. And he’s in my class. And I didn’t put it together until he came in for a parent teacher conference. And then, during our meeting, the expression on my face must have suddenly changed because I realized that this guy who I was trying to talk to all serious about his kid’s future, this guy is the guy who saw my cooch!”