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PANTY RAID
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Oct. 19, 1999 |
Many panties were flung without premeditation that night -- but few were
aimed at the stage. Ivy and Lux weren't themselves the objects of desire,
but instead sprayed the crowd with sexual possibility like a bomber plane sending briefs exploding skyward, launching a geyser of airborne briefs. These chicks just wanted out of their underwear, and so they cast their scent wherever it landed. I never doubted that those flung panties were wet, so I assumed that wetness was at least implied in any panty-toss. But would this be true at a $50 Tom Jones concert at a staid
Washington theater? I didn't expect spontaneity, but I thought some original meaning of a
tossed panty would survive. Rituals are meant to both stand in for
and re-ignite whatever expression originally inspired them. So even if the
Tom Jones fans brought laundered panties in their handbags, once airborne
they would signify the same thing as the pioneering
pair thrown 35 years ago by some British schoolgirl pushed past her boiling
point by the Welsh pelvis. I assumed that every tossed panty still says: You
and your show, Mr. Jones, get me very excited, and here are the body fluids
to prove it. But at Jones' concert, the panties appeared while the roadies were still
setting up the stage. A woman about 30 rows back started it off, standing
up at her seat and twirling white bikini briefs to growing cheers. Others
picked it up, and the air above the seats filled with the tiny waving flags
and bawdy whoops and cheers. The sound swelled to a war cry: An army of
ladies who'd left their husbands at home were preparing to storm the stage and
bomb it with their underwear. I sat between two demographically representative groups. On my left
three 60ish women in bifocals and beauty-shop hairdos cooed and giggled
over the coming attraction; on my right three women in their 30s played it
cooler, making it clear that the panties they'd brought would be tossed ironically.
When asked if Jones was married, my 60ish neighbor answered a little
prissily, "Well if he is, he has a very liberal wife." My 35-year-old
neighbor was the first of many who told me her mother loved Tom
Jones and that ogling him on TV had been a family affair.
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