Our annual company party was last night. Because of the weather (3 inches of completely unexpected snow), we didn’t have nearly as many people attend as we normally do. But my wife and I were determined to make it there.
This was a semi-formal event, so, naturally, I wore a tie. Oh, and of course, my favorite kilt.
Some other people wore semi-formal vestments, of course. And, being a tech company, there were a fair percentage of jeans and sweatshirts.
As expected, the kilt drew looks, comments, thumbs up — and not a single negative remark.
One attendee stuck in my mind. While I was waiting for my loverly date to return, a young woman of maybe 25 or 30 with a curious accent — I’d guess Northern European — approached me and a bit shyly asked, “May I ask you a personal question?”
It’s not my style to be discourteous to a complete stranger, especially given the circumstances (Duh, I’m in a kilt… at a company event… people ask questions), “Of course.”
“Are you wearing anything under there?”
Quickly, I had a few possible responses flash through my mind. The first possible response would have been, “Under where?” Though my standby to women who ask that one is usually, “Good girls don’t ask… bad ones find out for themselves.”
No, company function. Must remain respectable.
“Well,” I thought for a moment, “it is called a kilt.”
Her eyes widened. She gave a bit of a smirk and a nervous laugh. Then a response that left me a bit more confused: “Woah, that’s too much information!” Though I’d attribute that remark to nervousness on her part. She probably expected the “Under where?” response.
I smiled and she went off to catch up with her date.
Fast forward about an hour and things are winding down for the middle-aged crowd, so we’re getting ready to say our farewells to various attendees. I notice out of the corner of my eye, Ms. Curiosity nearing to walk behind me toward the exit. Then, quite possibly the funniest goddamned thing happened… as she passed behind me within a few feet, she dropped the napkin she was holding, then she dropped to her knees on the floor and, while half-heartedly reaching for the napkin, she did the classic I’m-a-ten-year-old-perv-dropping-coins trick and cocked her head to try getting an obvious peek up the kilt.
Ask what’s under somebody’s clothing; get offended when the answer is “what do you think?” And funny as hell that the adult woman would act like a juvenile boy and go about trying to figure it out for herself.