Really Real Chronicles; part Junior

Sorely disappointed I can't use italics in the title bar. Boo you, blogger.

Last week I "started something", so this is me continuing that something in hopes I make myself less embarrassed and ashamed of my blemished social past...

This one's a quicky but a goody (and by good I mean totally atrocious and the traumatizing root behind my fashion drawbacks);
There were very few occasions wherein the neighborhood kids got to come over to my house, due to a wide range of dumb reasons all culminating in me wondering why in the world I didn't invite people over because our house was BOMB. friggin. diggity.
Regardless, (and again memory fails me) some of the popular, strikingly pretty girls from school were over and I was floundering socially so my mom suggested taking them on a tour of the house. Which in hindsight probably looked a lot like blatant bragging, "Here! Let me shove my 3 story plus attic and bombshelter, 8 bedroom, 6 bathroom, 10,000 square foot house in your faces because I don't know how to small talk!"
But I did it because what options did I have?
We were headed up the stairs to the top floor of the house (sounds like a hotel when you say it that way) and I noticed a weird stretching in my pants right by my knee. I was giving some spiel about how we'd recently changed the carpet on the stairs and trying to nonchalantly pull at the knee pit of my jeans, but it probably more looked like a bad attempt at that knee-banging dance move. But I soldiered on (mind you, there were I think 18 steps to these stairs so we've got a long journey ahead of us). The girls began following farther and farther behind, steering clear of my weird flailing.
About halfway up the stairs, the stretching in my jeans was alleviated and I felt a light brush down my shin as something fell out of the bottom of my pants. I naively assumed it was a rogue sock and looked down prepared to pick up a harmless white cotton sock and laugh coolly along with my understanding friends. Surely this happens to everyo---
Oh.
Oh no.
Staring back up at me in bright neon pink and purple flowers were a pair of wadded granny panties. My first panic fueled thought was,
"How did my underwear come off with my pants still on!!"
I was so consumed by my panic that I stood there and tugged at the waist of my jeans to check and make sure I was still wearing undies.
All the while the other girls are standing there waiting for me to explain myself, no hint of humor lighting their faces. I quickly bent and picked up the flowered garment, rolled it in a tight ball and went to walk on but decided that wasn't inconspicuous enough and proceeded to stuff the panties back into the waist of my pants.
My hosting dignity gone forever, I mumbled through the rest of the bedrooms and library, and the rest of the evening is lost to my memory.

Moral of the story: the dryer has a cruel sense of humor and thank goodness for g's that are far too big to worm their way down the leg of your jeans without notice.