I would be mortified. Offended, even. Should that situation arise, I can assure you I would avert my eyes and get the hell away from her as quickly as…
OK, stand down, the wife has left the room. Shyeah, I’d look. But yes, I’d look around for Allen Funt, too.
I think once I got over the initial shock/surprise, there’d be a lot of stuff running through my mind (besides, you know, that. I’d wonder what prompted said woman to do so.
Location would have something to do with it:
Crowded street: Keep looking, see what the hell is going on. Stick around for a bit. Look for a camera crew.
Deserted alley: Say, “Sorry, I’m broke.” Beat the feet outta there. Look for a cab.
Mardi Gras: “Woo hoo! Thanks! Here’s your beads.”
Strip club: “Woo hoo! Thanks! Waitress, more beer.”
Parliament: Dunno, never been to Italy.
And much as I hate “lookism”, appearance and age would factor in. I mean, if you’re going to be flashed by a Clampett, would you rather Ellie May, Granny, or Jethrine?
And if I knew the person? Depends on the circumstances. Like: Certain coworker/friend, downtown party, few drinks, yells, “Yo, Nee! Looky here! Wheee!” Me: Look, laugh, enjoy (maybe), attitude similar to “Mardi Gras”. Same coworker/friend, alone in office after closing, working late, whispers, “Yo, Nee! Looky here…Whee…” OK, now we’re in a whole new world of weird. One, because I think now the situation is more personal. Also, I’m wondering what her game is – why is she flashing me? (Rationale: Put it to you this way: One of the things that I love about my wife is that she isn’t fixated on aesthetics.) Same coworker/friend, flashes a busload of people, I’m worried and getting her to professional help. And I wouldn’t look at someone who seems to have taken leave of their senses – seems to me kind of like visual rape, for want of a better word.
I’ve been flashed a couple of times. I generally don’t count strip clubs or hookers, that’s sort of par for the course. I got flashed by some young women in downtown Montreal once from a car (reaction: applause); I got partly flashed in a pub during Mardi Gras (reaction: “You gotta do better than that if you want these beads!”); and I got flashed by a woman on the subway who was clearly just visiting this planet (reaction: Look away, don’t make eye contact, if necessary disembark at the next stop).
Reminds me of a (possibly apocryphal) story from the Second World War. Took place on a British base that had a contingent of female personnel – WACs, nurses, I don’t know, but apparently none were shrinking violets. At every daily inspection the crusty old-school Regimental Sergeant-Major (RSM) would form all the soldiers up on the parade square; he had a habit of yelling “Dress up! Dress up!” to get the soldiers to fix their “dressing” (i.e. alignment standing in ranks). Apparently one day the women decided to pull a prank, so when the RSM yelled “Dress up!” they all lifted their skirts, and apparently none had their knickers on. Reoprtedly the RSM didn’t bat an eyelash but marched down the rank of women barking at each, “Haircut!..Haircut!..Haircut!..”