The Photogenic Dress

The photographers had been waiting for nearly an hour when the presidential motorcade finally arrived. Doors opened, aides sprang into position, and out stepped the President's daughter. She was twenty-four, spectacularly blonde, and looked every inch the glamorous daughter of a head of state. Her long hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, and her elegant white evening gown hugged her figure as she made her way down the red carpet.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

She smiled graciously.

"Miss President's Daughter! Over here!"

She turned slightly.

Flash.

"One more!"

She paused, hand resting delicately on her hip. She wanted to show herself at her best, but the fabric wouldn't cooperate.

She tugged.

Then came the sound.

RRRRRIP!

She froze. Everyone froze. For one extraordinary second, nobody moved.

Her eyes widened.

Behind her, the First Lady's chief of staff whispered, "Oh dear."

She looked over her shoulder.

And there she stood, suddenly giving the assembled world press a full view of her extremely attractive behind.

There was a stunned silence.

Then, as if governed by a single instinct, every photographer raised his camera.

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK.

She closed her eyes.

Her mother covered her face.

The President's press secretary stared at the sky as though requesting divine intervention.

"Well," she said through clenched teeth, "at least I know which side of the dress was the most photogenic."

The next morning, the newspapers agreed on one thing:

It had been the most spectacular red-carpet appearance of the year.

Unfortunately, nobody could remember what had originally prompted it.