last night poor little innocent oline trod home in the rain. rain so great that she defied her fabled umbrella fear in order to preserve a beloved purple taffeta skirt. alas, no umbrella could protect her. within moments, poor little innocent oline was soaked to her underpants, not to mention the beloved purple taffeta skirt.
taffeta is a sneaky thing. it seems all standoffish at first glance, all calm and cool and collected. but taffeta is, at its heart, a clingy bitch.
thus, much to poor little innocent oline's horror, with every onward step, the taffeta lining of the beloved purple taffeta skirt slithered further up her bare, wet legs exposing the entire outline of her thighs and ass through the remaining, now-transparent taffeta that clung like lilac saran wrap to her pasty, soaked skin.
poor little innocent oline briefly found solace in the presence of a messenger bag, which could be strategically positioned to conceal the more revealed areas. for six and a half blocks, in an exercise of deft denial, she almost succeeded in convincing herself that she had handled this circumstance exceedingly well. that she did not look like something crawled from a drain. that looking at her, you would not know her ass was on public display.
until she passed a certain girl. a girl dressed entirely in jcrew, strolling down fullerton without an umbrella as if she didn't have a care in the world. and it was this girl who looked at poor innocent oline and said, hey you, your butt's hanging out.