The name’s Bond…James Bond.

It’s was a gorgeous day yesterday here in the Uk, last night it stayed above 17 degrees all night. I’ve been off all this week having a bit of “me time”, so when our neighbours suggested that we might all wander down the local pub for a cider, Phil & I jumped at the chance.
We got back about 8:30 pm and their kids were watching the Daniel Craig version of Casino Royal, so we adults settled down to watch it too (I still think it was the best Bond film yet!). It got to the scene where Bond & Vesper Lynd are in the hotel in bed and she is about to betray him, she gets out of bed and pulls on a red dress. Our neighbour’s wife said: “look at that, she’s not wearing any knickers, what a tart!”
Hmmm….I saw Phil look at me & I knew exactly what he was thinking!!
Now why would the fact that a girl has not got any underwear on beneath her dress make her a Tart? The reason I ask that is because I have been known to go commando on occasions! (see:
I realise that if a girl does that sort of thing she really should wear a suitably long dress or skirt and you obviously have to be careful about how you sit/get out of a car and things like that, but is it such a sin to want your bits to be free to breath?
I’m not advocating we should all try becoming Paris Hilton or Britney Spears, those girls did it for effect, but hey, it is quite nice to be out and about dressed appropriately knowing you don’t have underwear on.


…and another thing about men!

Since I’m on a roll, I might as well tell you about an incident from last year!
You probably don’t know, but my husband is French, though he has lived here in the UK since he was a little boy. But the french influence runs deep & he has to have his cafe au lait in the mornings. About this time last year (a Sunday morning) he got up to make breakfast (he makes us breakfast to have in bed on Sundays as I get up early on weekdays & make breakfast for us on those days), after longer than usual I got out of bed & heard him muttering to himself in the kitchen, turns out our coffee machine had packed up after nearly 15 years service!
Time for a shopping trip! Living in semi-rural West of England has it’s drawbacks, the nearest large shopping centre is 35 minutes away by car, so we had a cup of tea, I slipped on a dress & a pair of sandals & off we went to Bristol.
We found a suitable coffee machine in John Lewis (where else?!), took it to the car & returned to have brunch in the John Lewis cafe (Phil hadn’t had his caffeine fix yet!). While we tucked into our food I realised that Phil had a quizzical look on his face & he leaned over & said in hushed tones “your’e not wearing a bra, are you?”. It had taken him all this time to notice! I leaned over to whisper in his ear “I’m not wearing knickers either!” Ha! That stopped him in his tracks, he would probably have choked had he been chewing a mouthful. The problem is, he was like a kid for the rest of our trip, wanting to put his hand on my backside at every opportunity, trying to get me to flash him under the table, stuff like that! I mean, it’s not as if I had never gone commando before, not that I make a habit of it, he even suggested we stop on the way home for a shag (we didn’t!).
The thing is, what is it about the notion that your wife/girlfriend is not wearing panties under a dress or skirt or whatever that turns you guys into naughty little boys? After all, lots of men I’ve known go commando in the summer, is it that weird for us girls to want to do the same occasionally?