Jaycee Peterson wants to die. Her jeans are around her ankles, an entire restaurant is laughing at her, and the number of people who have seen her vibrant tangerine underwear over the past hour has slipped into the hundreds. The poor girl wants nothing more than to drop the food on her tray, snatch her pants back up, and sprint for the modest safety of her car, but a **** desire for money prevents this act. Instead, the mortified beauty slowly steps out of her fallen denim, careful not to trip or lose grip on the entrees, and walks the remaining several feet to her assigned table, legs clenched and head down in unbridled shame.
"Shr, Shrimp tacos?"
The whimpering waitress carefully unloads six plates to their corresponding customers. The last diner to be served, the elderly matriarch of the hungry family, has some choice words for the panty-clad Ms. Peterson.
"Young lady, you really ought to invest in a belt. No respectable gentleman wants a bride who can't even keep herself decent."
Jaycee turns even redder as she nods and chokes out a whispered "yes ma'am." She is already at the point of utter and complete humiliation, but what the young woman sees when she turns back to retrieve her pants brings her panicked mind to the brink of hysteria.
"Oh no. Oh God please no..."
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