Scene: 5:30 pm, my office

“I got another sale! I got another sale! YAY!”

“Yeah, um, that’s great. Before you wrap that up though… could you please go put your clothes back on before my wife gets home?”

And so ends The First Official Naked Thursday.

How, you may ask, did my new boss manage to get me stripped down? It was a devious plan, really. A long, complicated, devious plan that really begins the night before…

My husband and I were scouring the Internet Wednesday night, researching cars and ratings and blahblahblahblahzzzzzzz….. Adam lives for this shit. I have actually heard him refer to Consumer Reports as Mah Bible. I get overwhelmed and bored and weepy when trying to research shit I know nothing about. So, naturally, I coerced him into helping.

By the end of the night we’d made a short list of cars that simply MUST be reviewed. Adam’s list consisted of Toyotas and Acuras and a few grandpa cars. The next afternoon I skipped out on work for a few hours to go check the list out in person. Before I left, I remember Adam saying “make SURE you sit in the Toyota. For a while. Drive it. For as long as you can stand it”… which I thought was odd.

ANYway - we head to the car lot (hubby and I, he got off work early somehow) and narrow down our list of five vehicles I’m willing to test drive. Suddenly, my phone rings, and it’s Adam, reminding me once again to “just drive the Toyota, you’ll LOVE IT!”

Fine, fine. I agree to drive the Toyota first. It was nice. Pretty. Seemed comfortable. I started the car, cranked up the air, and Jared and I headed down the road.

Holy. Fuck. I think I remember something about a transmission that slipped and a serious pull to the right, but I can’t be sure because about 2 minutes into the test drive my brain turned to mush. Pureed grey matter, I’m telling you. This son of a bitching Toyota had NO FUCKING AIR!!!!!!!!!!! None. It blew HOT fucking air at you!!

So, in 94 fucking degree weather, I drove in a BLACK ON BLACK TOYOTA with NO FUCKING AIR!!!!

3 minutes into the ride my husband was wheezing “please, please, get back to the lot… you have to… get me out… let me out…” as he helplessly groped at the windows and door.

We pulled into the lot and oozed out of the car. My jeans (yeah, JEANS!!!) were soaked. My husband’s shirt was drenched in sweat. The back of my t-shirt was noticeably darker than the front of my shirt - and not in some sexy two-toned stylish way. Seriously - nasty. So nasty, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Anyhoo, we continue test driving, blah blah blah blah blah. About an hour and a half later I head back to the office, kiss my husband good bye, and settle back into work. Only… well… I just don’t feel right.

I tried to get comfortable and concentrate on the work at hand. But… well… honestly… I felt like I’d pissed my pants. Still! Damn near two fucking hours later. I felt my pants and realized they were still soaking fucking wet. Of course, this is something that must be shared. So, naturally, I jumped up out of my chair and ran to Adam’s desk.

“Feel me! Oh my god you HAVE to feel me!”

“What?” I saw a fleeting look of Oh My God I Didn’t Expect It To Be This Easy flash across his face, before it was quickly replaced by a forced look of bewilderment.

“Feel. Me. Seriously, give me your hand. Right HERE!” at which point I planted his hand on the denim on my inner thigh (which is NOT the same as making him grope my crotch. Really. It’s not. Not at all.)

He reeled back in horror and grabbed for the hand sanitizer he keeps on his desk, “what the hell?!?! Did you wet your pants and make me FEEL it!!!??” (at this point I think I actually heard the sounds of a fantasy dying in his head)

“No! No! It’s SWEAT! Isn’t that DISGUSTING?!?!”

“Um, yes, actually, it is. Thank you though for sharing.”

I laughed and went back to work. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The combination of insane sweat and a horrified germophobe makes me giggle.

About two minutes later Adam kindly offered to put my clothes in the dryer because “surely that is uncomfortable sitting there like that.”

And that, my friends, is the long, drawn out, horribly told story of how Naked Thursday was born.

I really need to start posting at night again.