I know that I can post details of this story with impunity because the only person involved likey to come to this site does not speak English . . . .
Several weeks ago we had a couple to stay from overseas. She was my wife's best friend at school, and her husband does not speak English. So we all spoke pidgin French around the dinnertable getting more and more 'mellow' as the evening progressed.
We got onto the subject of embarassing moments, and P said something quietly to his wife like 'once upon a time in the park . . .' at which she slumped to the table giggling in embarassment and trying to hide her face in her hands.
This is the story.
K was helping to teach English in France at a provincial school as part of her degree, and that's where she met P. They first got to know each other at a village fete/concert in the little place she was staying. Apparently there was a local band set up on some ground and people were singing with the band on this summer's afternoon. Everyone was sitting on the hillside which was interspersed with gorse bushes etc. K and P were sitting right up at the back drinking rosé wine.
Feeling the need to empty her bladder, K excused herself from P and skirted up around the back of a group of gorse bushes. Very carefully, she looked down towards where P was sitting to make sure that she could not be seen by him. Satisfied that she was invisible, she pulled down her trousers and knickers and started peeing.
And at that very moment, she was startled by a loud "Ahem" just behind her. She had been concentrating on making sure that P could not see her, she had neglected to look betwee the gorse bushes behind her to see where the directeur du lycée (or something like that) and his party was reclining on the grass.
She panicked and fumbled about, still peeing and tried to pull cover herself with her clothing. And of course, she wee'd all over herself as she did so. Probably with thick, dark trousers she could have got away with it, but with pale blue, lighweight cotton slacks it was painfully obvious that she'd urinated all over the seat of her own trousers. She scootled off to a more secure hiding place, took off her trousers and tried desperately to dry them with her handkercheif and finished peeing.
She told us that as the sun was good and strong (this was July in South West France), she laid her trousers out in the sun for as long as she dared, hoping that P would not come looking for her.
But he did.
P takes up the story.
"I thought I had to find her in case she was drunk or had fallen over, you know. I didn't call out because of the band playing, I just wandered through the gorse. At first I though she was just sunbathing because I could see her bare legs. But she was squirming like crazy and trying to cover herself up. Then I saw her trousers very carefully laid out, but I still did not understand!"
Eventually the penny must have dropped, because P, being a true gentleman, gave K his white Lacoste tennis cardigan to tie round her middle. K put her still soggy trousers back on, and with the wet patch hidden by P's cardigan, they made their self-conscious way back down the hill.
Then P said "Of course she has not told you that she took off her slip (knickers) too because they were so wet! Not bad for a first date, eh?"
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