I just made you see underwear...

Why is it that I always seem to catch people doing things that should be done in private, and when I do, it always seems to happen in slow motion? If you've seen "Along Came Polly," remember that scene where Ben Stiller and Phillip Seymour Hoffman are playing basketball with two big sweaty guys, and Ben Stiller's face gets shoved against one of the sweaty guys bellies, and it's in slow motion, and he's emitting this gutteral, slow-mo groan? yeah. A bit like that. Thank you, youtube, for the visual aid:


Cases in Point:
1) Driving along the beach in Revere, MA on our way up the shore one day, we were at a stop sign, and there was a woman crossing the street in front of us whose bikini days should have long since come to an end. The man she was with tugged at her bathingsuit ties, undoing her top, and her floppy jubblies came crashing out and down, in all their gelatinous glory. Right in front of our car. No court would have convicted us had we caused an accident. And they? Both doubled over laughing, as we looked on in horror, mere yards away.

2) Along the same stretch of beach (thank you, Revere, for causing my temporary blindness) John and I both happened to glance up at one of the porches overlooking the beach, just in time to see a woman reach down the back of her bathingsuit, thoughtfully digging around for...something. Awful. Just awful.

3) Most recently, I was waiting at the service desk at our local Large Grocery Store, and a middle-aged man was none-too-patiently waiting for his much older mother. The man was dressed in raggedy sweats, and just as he called out, "Come on, Mom!" he reached his hand wayyy down the side of his pants for a good scratch, exposing his tighty-whities which had long previous ceased to be tight, or for that matter, white. I would have more appropriately called them, "Bunchy Grundies." I closed my eyes in silent revulsion, but the image was already burned onto my retinas.

I'm sorry to have to expose you to this, and I apologize for the imagery if you were eating (or even breathing) but it begs to be asked: Why am I frequently in the wrong place at the wrong time, when people are about to do unspeakable things to their bodies that are better left in private, or one step further, UNDONE?