Pantsing was a pasttime in junior high--during a time when sexual harassment was only a myth. Looking back I could've been a recipient of some serious compensatory cash, but that's not the kind of person I am (blah blah). Instead, I just pants back. When I say pants, I mean the pants, literally, especially during P.E. It was me and this one kid named Steve Jones, black guy...really smart...funny, super nice...but he was my pantsing buddy. We took turns going at each other, like tag but with pants. Those gym shorts just slipped like my tongue when I'm in an awkward social situation. No one got hurt, no one ever paid much attention even. It was just a little yank, some drawers, then a pull back up and all was well. Until the final blow (the verbage is at a loss now, there's no helping all the words), on the soccer field.
Picture it, 1987 on a spring day (because it was PE not real soccer, okay soccer freaks?), we were all out on the field, boys and girls. I was a few yards in front of the goalie, Jason Mueller, who was pretty cute, but never was an interest of mine. The game was on the other end of the field, so my team must have been doing pretty well, like I cared. I hung back, not even watching the game. I must've been thinking about something because I was so oblivious to EVERYTHING. Steve Jones, what an opportunist, was not in la-la land. No, friends, he was calculating. Right now, he must be making big dollars somewhere taking advantage of poor, vulnerable people who are looking the other way. I'm standing on the field when suddenly I feel my shorts go down my legs. They don't go down as in "oops, slip" grap 'em and back up. They went D O W N my legs. But that wasn't the worst part. Steve, still the reigning king of pantsing, had grabbed my underwear (that's what they were when I was in 8th...no one wore thongs, that was weird). The breeze was free to roam in the parts that don't get a lot of fresh air. My bare bottom was free for Jason to check out. I grabbed the clothing (multiple) back up and heard the laughter getting louder. Five black girls were standing to the side. One of them screamed, "She got hair!" Very mature, what...you don't have hair? How old are we? In eighth grade, everything is embarrassing, so you can imagine how that one did me in. At least my butt was cute back then. Now if he had done that yesterday?...Sexual harassment suit for "all he got," that's all I can say. (my head is doing the 'attitude' bob as I write that.) Now that is history I'm proud to share with my posterity.