Last week I saw THIS (Related Article: NYPD Charity Softball A.K.A. “Chris Christie Should Never… EVER Wear Baseball Pants Again”) and it reminded me of a lady I recently saw at a ballroom dance competition. She was wearing a black smooth dress with a deep plunging neckline. It was very dramatic, albeit plunging well beyond the point at which any plunging neckline should ever plunge. Given she danced in the gold division, I’m confident Ms. Plunging Neckline was fabulous, but I can’t say for sure because once I caught a glimpse of the unsightly tufts of her hoo-ha hair exposed at the nadir of the neckline, that’s all I saw. Like a mosquito drawn to a bug zapper, it was physically impossible for me to wrestle my gaze from her exposed mons pubis. It was excruciatingly awkward and yet… I. Could. Not. Look. Away.

I know for a fact other people noticed too because we all started clearing our throats and glancing uncomfortably at each other with stunned I-just-saw-that-lady’s-pubic-hair expressions on our faces. I scanned the ballroom and everyone… EVERYONE… including the judges, was acutely aware of Ms. Plunging Neckline’s pubic hair. Did I mention it was very awkward?

As if that’s not enough cringe worthiness for one ballroom dance competition, get a load of what else happened.

Cross my heart and hope to die; stick a needle in my eye. THIS also happened. Honest. I swear I saw it with my own eyes (which I gladly would have stuck with needles had some been available at the time). Everyone saw it and apparently it’s not all that rare because there’s actually a name for it. Underbutt.

If you’re a guy, you’re probably thinking what’s wrong with a little underbutt on the dance floor… or anywhere for that matter, right? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. It wasn’t a little underbutt. It was a lotta underbutt. In fact, it was a massive, jiggling underbutt. The kind of underbutt you get when you cram a five foot-four, 285 pound gal into a flirty size 8 rhythm dress. I mean no disrespect to full-figured women. Heaven knows I’m all about the base, but for the love of Pete GET A DRESS THAT FITS AND A PAIR OF FISHNETS. I tried looking away to save myself from recurring nightmares, but it was too late. The frightening image of that underbutt permanently tattooed itself onto my retinas.

It occurs to me neither Ms. Plunging Neckline nor Ms. Underbutt was wearing underpants. I admit, sometimes I don’t realize I have lipstick on my teeth or toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Heck, I’ve even left the house wearing two different color shoes, but I’ve never been out shopping or running errands or taking a dance class and suddenly realized I’m not wearing underpants. That doesn’t happen. To anyone. Forgetting to wear underpants is like forgetting to wipe your butt after you poop. People do not forget to do it. They just don’t.

I don’t care how anxious or pre-occupied you are before a ballroom competition. There are things you don’t forget – false eyelashes, hairspray and underpants – which leads me to conclude both Ms. Plunging Neckline and Ms. Underbutt intentionally did NOT put on their underpants that morning. Perhaps they thought it might give them a a leg up on the competition. Who knows. Ironically, I bet the judges don’t even remember how they danced. I know I don’t.

I like to win as much as the next middle-aged wannabe Dancing with the Stars contestant. I work hard in the studio to achieve goals. I’ve even come to embrace spray tans, big hair and more make-up than any respectable drag queen dares to wear, but I draw the line at dancing commando. It’s tawdry, tacky and tasteless.

Lots of ballroom enthusiasts follow this blog so I won’t mention when or where all of this dancing commando took place. I wouldn’t want to humiliate anyone. Then again, maybe a healthy dose of humiliation (cough-2015 Michigan Dance Challenge-cough, cough) might save us all from suffering through future vicariously embarrassing situations. We hope.

SPECIAL NOTE TO GOVERNOR CHRIS CHRISTIE:  Ix-nay on the aseball-bay ants-pay.

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