In all the times I’ve been there I’ve never seen Huck Finn, although I’ve seen several fences that could use a coat or two of Tom Sawyer’s paint. I also find it humorous to rock out to Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” whenever I breeze through town.
The locals think I’m a headbanger looking for moonshine, but I get the irony.
It was an especially cold and windy day, which is my favorite kind of day in the Fall. Not because I like wind or cold; but because I don’t like doing my hair.
I realize these things aren’t logically related, but then again neither are Kim Kardashian and personality, but people seem to continue to believe she’s relevant.
Here’s my logic: if it’s windy, I can skip out on doing my hair and blame my disheveled appearance on the elements.
Of course, the wind can’t account for my mismatched socks and the stench of Static Guard, but whatever.
I arrived in Hannibal wearing a comfortable dress that went to my mid calf and was a bit flowy.
It wasn’t the nicest dress in the world, nor was it even remotely cute, but it was comfortable to wear in the car, which is my main criteria for attire.
I’m not sure if this makes my standards high or low.
I don’t like to travel in pants, as they dig into my stomach and take the focus away from rocking out in my car to Foreigner during the drive. Not cool.
“Urgent” and “Hot Blooded” are too good of tunes to allow for distraction.
I got out of my car and walked to the passenger side to get my purse out of the front seat. As I bent over to move the empty water bottles and Fiber One wrappers out of the way, a gust of wind blew my dress up, exposing my butt and my less than flattering underwear.
It took me a second to realize what happened, most likely because I discovered the remains of a bag of Gummy Bears and I became sidetracked.
But as I felt the cold breeze hit my cheeks, I realized something was not right.
I stood up and quickly pushed my dress down, careful not to drop the last few Gummy Bears. Now that would be a travesty.
As I attempted to gather my thoughts, and my pride, I looked around to see if anyone saw anything. I was hopeful that wasn’t the case, as it was after 10:00 in the morning so I figured most people would be at their jobs…or at their court mandated community service.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, as I looked up to see one lone man walking across the street staring at me and smiling.
I knew he wasn’t grinning because of the Gummy Bears I was holding, although they are delicious. Rather, I knew this guy just saw my butt and my ratty underwear from 5 years ago.
Crap. Now what? I thought about my options. I could apologize to him quickly and hope he didn’t want to press charges, as I couldn’t use (another) indecent exposure charge on my record.
Or, maybe I should just embrace it, take a bow, and offer my autograph, which I naturally sign as Leza Gibbons. As I was contemplating which route to go, the smiling man (who I’ve named Gary) gave me a thumbs up.
What in the world did he mean with a thumbs up? Was he suggesting he liked what he saw under my dress purchased from a sale bin in 2007?
Or was he simply giving me a rating, like Siskel and Ebert? And if so, why was I only one thumb up and not two?
After all, I was working out with a trainer, and I only ate a few Gummy Bears. The rest of the bag was empty from a previous drive.
Okay, maybe I was only one thumb up, but to Gary I should have been two thumbs for sure!
He looked like he’d had a rough life and the only criteria he had for a woman was that she have all her extremities and that she shave her beard before intercourse.
I was a little confused and very disappointed in his gesture.
I wanted to argue with Gary in an attempt to increase his score, but I knew I needed to go inside and work for a little bit. Not long, but a little bit.
I grabbed my things and headed to the door, wondering if that was the last I would see of Gary, or if he would be camped outside my car when I returned, waiting to ask me to go to the soup kitchen for lunch.
I also wondered if I would be charged with indecent exposure for this event. I suppose that’s something only God, and the prosecuting attorney for Hannibal, know. Until then, I’m wearing pants…or at least cuter underwear.