Just what the heck does the title of this blog mean, young lady?

For many years, I've had this half baked idea of writing a book about my weird life.  There are a couple of problems with this.  For starters, it seems like an awful lot of work, and let's get real - who needs more work in their life?  Wasn't work God's curse on Adam and Eve?  I want less work and less stress.  So...the book idea hasn't gotten very far.

The other problem is that I haven't been able to come up with much of a THEME to my life, though if I get another divorce, I think some sort of theme will begin to emerge.  No, my life has been pretty chaotic - not in a BAD way of course (except for the sucky parts), but...it's kind of hard to get a handle on, and I had a hard time figuring out what the TITLE of my book would be.  The title is SO important.  This stressed me out.  And like I said - I want less stress. 

"But if I write a book - what, o what, will the title be?  I can hardly bear to think about it..."

Every once in awhile I'd sit down and doodle on a Post It note, trying to come up with a title to my life.  What a bunch of drivel these titles all sounded like!  "The Life and Times of a Rambunctious Southern Girl" sounded like some sort of Jessica Simpson magazine article.  "The Joys and Challenges of Having Too Many Children Too Close Together" sounded exactly like the scenario it addressed - too complicated.  "Nine Schools in Eight Years" had a certain ring to it, but it didn't carry through well to my adulthood (nor did the sporadic education I received at, well, nine schools in eight years).

One title - one deliciously sinful, provocative, decadent title kept nudging at my head though - daring me to define my life with such a phrase.  "I Don't Got No Panties On" is - IS - the perfect label for my life.  And it's not because I don't wear panties, because I usually do.  So quit thinking that way.  Sheeze.  It's because the day I uttered this small phrase - at age two, to a diverse crowd of customers as I stood in the checkout line at the Base Exchange with my Air Force hero daddy who was heading off to Vietnam - I unwittingly stepped into and embraced the defining facet of my personality - exuberant overdisclosure.

My beautiful, ethereal mommy was like a fairy princess to me, and my tall, handsome daddy was my hero.  Every day of my small life, I spent following my mother around and trying to glide like she did, both of us whiling away the day till my father burst through the door each evening, in his Air Force uniform.  That was when things really got interesting! 

Beautiful, ethereal mommy and tall, handsome daddy

That hot summer day, my longsuffering mother had been diligently trying to potty train me, so I had been puttering around our base housing unit on high alert, wearing a short, full cotton dress - and no little cotton panties.  This was to facilitate quick and accurate access to the little plastic potty chair - at a moment's notice. 

When my father came striding through the door that evening, he picked me up, whirled me around in a circle and said, "Who wants to go to the BX with me?"  "I do, I do!" I squealed, and he plunked me down and said, "Well, run go get your shoes on and let's go!"  In my excitement and my intense concentration on trying to get my Mary Janes on, I totally forgot about the absent panties till we were actually IN THE STORE PARKING LOT.  And then suddenly...I felt an odd sensation as I clambered out of the car -my bare hiney scooting across the hot vinyl seat.

"Daddy," I whispered frantically, pulling on his hand as we made our way across the lot, "Daddy!  Daddy, guess what, I can't go in the store.  I can't go in the store."

He stopped and looked down at me.  "Well, why not, Punkin Head?"  "Because...because I don't got no panties on."

He looked at me for a second and then threw his head back and laughed.  "Sugar Lump, that's OK!"  He laughed some more and shook his head.  "Just don't bend over in the aisle!"  He seemed to think this was very funny, and laughed to himself all the way into the store, with me trailing behind.

Up and down the aisles we walked.  Earnestly and studiously, I repeated to myself, "Don't bend over.  Don't bend over."

Me bending over - though, in this photo, unfortunately I do have on panties.  Pity.

But the air was so cool over by the refrigerated products.  I leaned against the cool glass as I watched my daddy in the distance, and I did a bad little thing.  I lifted my dress up and put my hiney against the glass.  Brrr, that was cold!  But it felt good too - it certainly did.  I looked around furtively - and did it again.

My father headed off toward the checkout line.  "Come on, Punkin, don't lollygag."  I straightened my dress and scuttled after him.

The line was long, and full of hot, red faced adults in full military uniforms.  They looked so quietly miserable.   I knew what would make them feel good though.  They should leave the house without their panties on and get a feel of that cool air on their hiney in the back of the store next time.  Oh it felt so good to be me instead of them!  The joy of that little realization filled my hedonistic heart with singing.  I couldn't hold in my exultation - I just couldn't do it! 

Behind him, my father heard gasps, and then laughter.  He heard a familiar childish voice pipe up above the laughter, and he heard these joyous words ring out as his pride and joy flung her arms wide and spun herself in a circle, allowing her little dress to swing out at waist level:

"Look, everybody, look!  I don't got no panties on!"

Yep, it feels good to be me.