The annual Christmas Party at Neil Marbell’s apartment was always a highlight of the academic yuletide social calendar.
Ana crosses and uncrosses her legs, obviously out of practice wearing hose, and each time her skirt rises a little higher. This is not on purpose. Paul leans over, looks down at her lap, and whispers,
- So...what’s going on there?
- My legs are itching (muffled groan), and I can’t get this thing (pulls skirt) to stay down.
- Not complaining, but, I mean...
- I know.
She stands up (tug, nervous smile), looks around the room, and after a few pointed glances from professorial guests and their spouses, and sits back down.
- Can’t you just take them off?
- (glares)
- I’m serious. Your bare legs would attract less attention than this little dance (wink).
- Paul...
- Not helping?
- No, not helping. Where’s Marbell?
- (points)
- Zed here yet?
- Nope. I don’t think so.
The host was busy, and hadn’t yet missed the guest of honor.
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