Full Moon Over Spring Creek

     It began as a typical Saturday morning errand to the dry cleaners. Before it was over, a possible crime had been committed and more than one person, including me, would end up looking mighty foolish.
     A dry cleaning run is never complete without a visit to the adjacent donut shop, so my daughter waited in the car with her breakfast while I took the week’s laundry inside. It was morning rush hour and several people were in line ahead of me. While I waited my turn, a thirty-something guy came in and stood at the back of the line. He was tall, and was wearing gray gym shorts and a baseball cap. As I left the shop, I noticed his girlfriend waiting in a white sedan parked directly in front of the store’s windows.

     Because of the donut stop, I had parked several spaces away from the cleaner’s door, so the tall man probably didn’t notice me, or my daughter, sitting in the car. I hadn’t driven away yet because I was trying unsuccessfully to bum an apple fritter from her. And that’s when I saw the crime.

     The perpetrator was now alone in the shop, as the clerk had stepped to the back to retrieve his order. It all happened so fast, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The guy started to remove his shorts. My first thought was, “Why is he taking off his pants in the middle of the shop? He should have put them in the bag before he left home.” I’m pretty slow sometimes. But then I realized he wasn’t removing his pants to have them cleaned, but to share a little view of his, ahem, assets, with his watching girlfriend.

     From my vantage point all I could see was a hairy white butt, and not a great one at that. But from the degree to which he lowered those shorts and the hip-wiggling moves he aimed at the window, I’m pretty sure the girlfriend, with her more direct sight-line, saw more. A great deal more.

     I gasped aloud…and then, quite naturally I think, I pointed. My daughter, until this time interested only in the pastries, looked up. Her gaze followed my outstretched hand. Now we both had a view of the guy which I am certain he never intended.

     If I had been alone, I might have just shaken my head and driven away. But with a teenager along, I felt I had to express the appropriate indignation at this affront upon our collective female dignity. So I honked the horn. The guy’s head snapped around and he saw me. Immediately a look of panic covered his face. He jerked up the shorts.

     And then, God knows why, I got out of the car and stormed back into the shop. As I threw open the door, I practically screamed, “What do you think you’re doing? I’ve got a thirteen-year-old girl in the car!” By this time the clerk, and the store manager, had re-appeared with the clothes. They regarded me as if I were a lunatic, bursting into their store and shouting at another customer. At that point, I almost felt sorry for the guy. He turned red back to his ears and kept stammering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

     We all stared at each other for a long, uneasy second, until I beat a hasty retreat, as I’m sure the fellow did too. I still go to the same cleaners weekly, and neither the clerk nor the manager has ever mentioned the incident.

     But I’ve never seen Mr. Pants there again. He probably drives all the way to Plano to have his shirts done now. Afterward, I felt a bit silly reacting so strongly, but justified my behavior as a mother’s right to protect her child. All the wind went out of my sails, though, when I got back into the car and my daughter said, “Cool, Mom. I never would have looked if you hadn’t screamed and pointed.”