Sans culottes is French for no undies…a state I’m often in, especially in the heat.
I shed everything possible, having tremendous understanding of the nudist’s mentality.
I had an appointment for my annual skin scan when my dermatologist dons a miner’s hat to examine my body…top to bottom. I’m very fair you see, so for me, it’s crucial to have one.
My appointment was at 10, so I ran over to Chagall’s to get my hair trimmed, sans culottes, planning to go home first, to appropriately suit up.
I’m from Connecticut. If no other time, you wear undies to the doctor’s, and that doesn’t mean a thong either. Your mother, even mine, briefed me on briefs, even if it was, ever so briefly.
“Hullo, this is Bee from Dr. W’s office, and we were wondering, could you possibly come now since the man before you is stuck in traffic?”
Hmm…this was quite a dilemma for Miss Connecticut, feeling like Grant at Appomattox who wanted to change into cleaner clothes, but that meant keeping General Lee waiting.
What to do…what to do?
“Well Bee, I can come, except for one thing. I’m not wearing underwear and don’t know how the doctor feels about that.”
Without skipping a beat, Bee says, “Oh that’s not a problem. He doesn’t wear any either.”
“Well in that case.”
So like Grant, I didn’t change, nor keep him waiting…