I Can Make Anything Not Sexy

I was recently (and by recently I mean ten minutes ago) on the phone with a boy, whom I told, with no provocation at all, I was in no state of dress to be talking on the phone. He asked what that meant, and was there some sort of dress code for phone communication? I said no, I was just sort of sinning by being kind of not wearing a shirt because it was hot. I could hear the question mark through the output. So I went on. 

"Well, I got home and it was hot. And I was wearing a long sleeved shirt, and it was hot. So I took it off. And I was wearing pants, which are like long sleeves for your legs. And it was hot. So I took those off, too. And now here I stand, in just an undershirt and my skivvies. You can probably hear my sin through the telephone."

BECAUSE I CAN MAKE ANYTHING UN-SEXY.

Had I felt up to snuff, I could have said something like, "my thighs were so hot and sweaty, I just couldn't stand it one... second... longerrrr." But no, not this girl. This girl dances around in hot pants to Use Me by Bill Withers. This girl talks on a 30-foot-cord wall phone from the seventies.

After I'd hung up, I figured I ought to throw on some kind of pants, just to make it more okay for me to shake my cinnamon bits around, and I had to climb over the baby gate at the top (not the foot; does that make it the head?) of the stairs. Now, I still wasn't wearing pants. Those were downstairs, chillin' with the other laundries, and having a laundry party.

So, there I was, this short little white girl from Layton, wearing polka dot panties and a white wifebeater. I'm sure there's some kind of fetish involving that. And I have to rodeo over this baby gate that, by the way, comes up to my waist, and I'm not wearing any pants, and I swing my leg over.

But my grounded foot makes this no-socks-all-day squeak as it pivots, ripping through the quiet like a record stopping in the middle of a goofball moment. I started giggling.

BECAUSE I CAN MAKE ANYTHING UN-SEXY.

And once I got over the gate, I hop-skipped down the stairs and rifled through a laundry basket full of my mother's underwear to pull out a pair of white, seventies-style basketball shorts. Which, were it a bit colder in the house, I would have worn with knee high tube socks. Then, I came back upstairs and looked through the fridge for a pickle.