While waiting in the reception area of my doctor’s office this morning, my attention turned to a girl who was standing at the desk. This girl, who was only 20 years old (I know because I heard her give her date of birth) was wearing the tiniest denim skirt I had ever seen on a human being. Not only was it tiny…she was, well…NOT. The denim was stretched tighter than Joan River’s face and because it was so small, it was creeping upwards.

I saw more crack than anyone should ever have to see before 10 a.m. Or ever, actually. Tiny skirt and no underwear? Why?!

The site of this girl made me remember back to my senior year of college, the first day of Greek Week.

The opening ceremony of Greek Week is a true Greek system spectacle. Girls serving as representatives of each house dress up in handkerchiefs and call them togas, guys strut around shirtless and push the squealing girls around in homemade chariots. Everyone is drunk by 9 a.m. After the chariot race, fun and silly events take place like tricycle and bouncy ball races.

Those of us who weren’t participating in the race sat down on the sidewalk to watch. Across the street from us was a group of girls in their togas, barely lucid and stumbling all over the place. As we watched one particular girl fall out of her high heels, a gust of wind blew, tossing the skirt of her toga napkin into the air.

“Oh…my…God,” said a voice behind me. I turned to see what the person was looking at. As the wind blew and the fabric lifted up over and over again, there is was.

Her vagina.

In her drunken haze (or maybe on purpose), this girl went out in public wearing nothing more than a dishtowel. And showed the entire Greek system her vagina.

Over and over again.

Wind blows…


Wind blows…


It was like a train wreck. The entire side of the street could not look away. Because not only was her sad little vagina flapping in the breeze, it was bald and tan. People, vaginas should NOT be tan.

But the best (or worst, depending on how you look at it) part? She tried to participate in the bouncy ball race. As she struggled to balance on the ball the referee said, “Um…you can’t put your bare, um, you know on the ball…”

Too drunk to be embarrassed about it, she stumbled down the street with her friends.

I think the lesson for today is always wear underwear. Even if they’re boy shorts. Because nobody needs to see your vagina.