July 20, 2006
Recent indecent exposure
How I got caught with my pants down -- literally.

Jill Brooks
INtake columnist

We used to play a drinking game in college called "Most vulnerable."

Going around the table, you had 10 seconds to tell one of your life's most embarrassing moments, or you had to drink.

For some people it was difficult to deliberate, or at least to admit something. For me, the girl for whom big plastic red noses were invented, the difficulty came only in choosing from my extremely long list, as I made a fool of myself -- wait, let me check, yes -- daily.

I excelled at winning this game, and never once caught a buzz while playing.

But like good wine I've aged; the only drinking game I play now is, frankly, called "Here, have another."

French people drink every day, and that's why I pulled for them in the World Cup. But wait -- I think Italian people drink every day, too.

Like them, I appreciate that wine is a basic food group.

I drank a lot of it last Friday night, and suffered the consequences early the next morning when my boyfriend announced, "They're showing the house in 15 minutes."

We've dubbed this "The morning scrambler." Each weekend, hung-over or not, we're forced to leave the premises while the Realtor does her thing.

We did a cursory cleaning of the house; I couldn't believe I was up, much less vacuuming the living room floor, at 8 a.m. as I suffered from extreme dehydration.

We ate breakfast at Café Patachou, where I hid behind sunglasses and three cups of coffee.

An hour later, I headed back to bed and my boyfriend went to the gym.

While trying to get back to sleep, I suddenly heard doors opening, squeaking and slamming. I heard footsteps and voices, and before I surmised that it wasn't my boyfriend back to wake me from the dead, I realized it was another showing.

The exact moment I realized this was, unfortunately, the exact same moment when three people walked in to the bedroom.

I was lying on my stomach in a T-shirt and underwear; a sheet draped over one leg.

A woman asked, "They wouldn't have left a person here, would they?" (Her question struck me as fairly stupid, but I pretended to be asleep.)

For what seemed like minutes, they stood there. I moaned and they gasped . . . right before leaving the house.

I always win most vulnerable, but it keeps me entertained.

Still, I text messaged my boyfriend: "You forgot the second showing; you're in big trouble."