This never would have happened before

A friend of mine teaches at a prep school for the economically paired. When he was in town last week as a chaperone for Model U.N. he made some sartorial choices that you'd expect of a New England prep school teacher; button-down shirt, tie, sweater, blazer. Though it made me sweat just to look at him, he looked good. I can only assume he felt good as well.

Several of us went out to dinner in the Back Bay. Good food surrounded by at least modestly good people. As is customary, the several drinks we had with dinner left us unsated. We walked several blocks to another bar, carrying on as though our youths weren't about to make their first appearance in our rear-view mirrors.

As we pulled seats up to a table and waited for our drinks to arrive, I looked around, taking a little inventory of our surroundings. This certainly was a Back Bay bar on a Friday night. The bar was filled with people our age or older, dressed to the nines like d-bags and d-baguettes. I tried not to dwell on this, opting instead to focus on the various topics of conversation we were nimbly navigating amongst ourselves.

Worlds collided minutes later when a woman in her late 30's, perhaps early 40's, approached with a question for the educator extraordinaire among us. "Hey. I like your tie." She said this without averting her gaze from him. "Hey, your tie. I really like it. I'll trade yah my undies for your tie?"

We all guffawed (2 parts uncomfortable, 3 parts incredulous, 2.5 parts this-is-awesome[?]ness). Eventually, it became apparent to us all that this little exchange wouldn't really be an exchange without a response. I slowly turned my head in his direction. He had a look on his face not unlike that of a lamb unsuspectingly tossed into the cougar pen at the zoo. But also kinda like a lamb who was trying to play it cool. "No thanks," he smirked.

"That was relatively painless," I can remember thinking to myself.

Two minutes later this same woman emerged from the ladies' room and strutted across the room and back to our table where she dropped her underwear on the table right in front of the object of her affection.

A collective gasp. "Is that really your underwear?" Marty wondered aloud. "It looks kinda big," he added, twisting the dagger.

Presumably embarrassed, she snatched her undies off the table and scurried off into the darkness never to be heard from again.