At my work, one of our general neighbors is relocating. A jeans store is moving, and they’re handing out notice cards like candy.
They feature an image they got from Lee, I think (correction: Levi’s) — it’s a very shapely lady’s posterior, utterly uncovered save for a single pocket “stitched” in magic marker on her right cheek. Quite fetching, I dare say.
It’s been the source of great amusement.
Recently, someone commented that I certainly must be enjoying the card. I replied that I had seen too much of it — I was starting to get bored with the image, and would appreciate some variety.
Well, not exactly. That was the sentiment I intended. That wasn’t precisely the words I said.
“Eh, it’s all right, but now I want to see the front pocket.”
About half a second after I said that, I realized precisely what I had said — and what the implication of it could be. I had inadvertently said something far, far dirtier than I intended.
At that point, I had two alternatives. I could stammer and blush and apologize profusely, explaining what I really meant, and I didn’t mean anything that crass, and I was exceptionally sorry for any offense I risked.
Alternately, I could double down. I could continue the line of thought, pretend that I meant it all the time, and just run with that theme.
Of course, I was at work, and my employer (Very Big Company, comfortably in the top half of the Fortune 500) has a very, very strict sexual harassment policy. People have been fired for less.
The question was never in doubt.
Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
“Oh, so that’s why they call it a ‘button-fly!'”
(No, I’m not going to explain what that meant. In fact, I’m going to deny that I had any specific meaning in mind, and let your own dirty minds decide the meaning — if it has any.)
Other men flirt with death. Me, I walk up, grab a bony butt-cheek in each hand, and yell “how’s it going, Death?”
Somehow, I’m still somewhat gainfully employed…
Update: some folks have been demanding to see the image in question.
is the somewhat NSF picture…