How many of you can say that? (Excluding strippers.)
Ok, ok, I work for a dermatologist.
A few months ago I had a moderately dysplastic mole biopsied and then excised by the main doctor in my office (president of the board of directors), and now I have to get regular skin checks. Not so big a deal, except I sometimes wonder if from now on, when he sees me, he’ll be remembering how he SAW ME IN MY UNDERWEAR!
I have another funny-looking mole, too, and now I’m just waiting on the melanoma to appear. It killed my grandfather, but it probably won’t kill me, as I work for just the right people. Yay!
And, yes, I did request a certain coworker for the chaperone- one with a worse body than mine, of course.
Well, as a matter of fact, we wear white pants, so… why, yes, yes, I was wearing my granny panties! White cotton briefs that go up to >here<. At least I was wearing my good bra, though.
And no, no pics, only those running through my boss’s head right now. Bow chicka bow wow…
I see women of all ages in their bras every day, and you would not believe how many sorry bras are out there. I would not be caught dead in a sorry bra. The movie-screen granny panties, okay, (at least at work) but never a sorry bra!
Alice let me tell you a true story.
Back in 1984 I worked for a professional auto racing team, and sold performance parts to the public.
Over time I built up phone friendships with several of my customers.
Anyway this one day one of my regulars called and we were shooting the shit. He was telling me just how great it must be to work for a racing team, and getting to go to all the races.
I told him that it was not as much fun as he thought. 18 hour days, dirt, dust with hours of boredom mingled with seconds of action. Trying to put it in perspective, I asked him what he did
Laughing he said that he was a photographer for Hustler.
:eek: :dubious: :eek:
I replied, you think I have a good job? You have every boy’s fantasy job.
Naw, he said, I wake up and think: Shit, today I have to take more pictures of another naked woman.
My response was “DO YOU NEED AN ASSISTANT???”
the point is what you work with quickly becomes Blasé. I am sure that your doctor does not even notice your undies.*
*If this for any reason upsets you, feel free to link me to some photos. I promise I am not Blasé about women in their bras and panties.
Several years ago I saw a co-worker who was technically my subordinate in his boxers. It was sad and funny too. Poor guy was working with an exacto blade and dropped it in his lap. Forgetting it was, you know, a BLADE, he snapped his knees closed to catch it, and promptly caught it, jamming the blade into this thigh. He called me and told me the situation, wondering if he should go to the hospital. Helpful me said, “Skip, let me in to look at it! I used to be an EMT and if you don’t care, I don’t care.”
So, in I went and the poor man dropped trou and I examined his wound. It did need stitches, so he dressed and off we went. It wasn’t remotely titallating, and even today, years later, I think of Skip in his old-man looking boxers and grin.
Of course, she happens to work for my father, so…
(This probably makes Dad one of the few people who can admit to sleeping with his secretary and no one will even blink)
