Note to all women with darker skin tones who brave the world of below-the-belt white linen -- buy a slip.
As the Sweetness and I came around the corner of ConnAve/K yesterday evening around 7:30, we noticed a pretty young thing in a pretty young Summer outfit. Petite, fit and tan, the sunglasses-bedecked Georgetown University student - believe me, once you've spent time on campus, you just know - complemented the humidity with a very weather appropriate ensemble of a coral-colored cap-sleeved boatneck tissue tee, metallic ballet flats, a worn caramel satchel over her left wrist, a crisp, well-fitted-at-the-ass, white linen skirt, and oh yeah, royal blue bikini briefs so visible even I, without glasses, could clearly identify where the cotton material met its silken piping.
You never know with a girl like this; this was, in my immediate opinion, an intentional act, an act of calculated entrapment meant to invite a confrontation in which she could justifiably accuse a man caught at the latter end of the implicit five-second am-I-really-seeing-what-I'm-seeing? stare-at-a-stranger window of being a pervert.
You know, like we all do with our university-emblazoned booty shorts?
Why am I so convinced this wasn't a typical DC fashion miscue?
If there's one thing I learned in my days up on College Hill and then again behind the gates of Georgetown, it's that girls with Tod's handbags and subtle diamond jewelery know every inch of their appearance before they leave their luxury apartments. Front, left-side, right-side, and most assuredly, back-side.
And to her credit, the plan worked. For the first time in recent memory, Monte's patrician good looks and self-important gait weren't the center of attention.