I accidentally sort of flashed a guy once. We had gone to a park after a dance, it was late at night, and I needed to use the restroom. I left my companion over by a bench; he was going to smoke a cigarette in the meantime. The restroom had one of those L-shaped entrances, that is, an outside wall forms a short corridor at the end of which you go around the inside wall into the restroom. I was wearing fitted slacks that had a side zipper and a button at the waist, and when I was done using the facilities was having a hard time fastening my pants because the blouse I was wearing kept getting in the way and it didn’t help that I was trying to fasten my pants in a hurry. Like most women, and probably men, I don’t like using public bathrooms at all but especially alone at night and I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, so I bunched my blouse up under my chin as I walked toward the entrance, and stopped at the corner where you turned to go out, buttoning the button on my slacks and then zipping the zipper. I let my blouse fall back into place, preparing to walk out; the thing was, the way the entrance was configured, my companion, who had walked over to wait for me, could see me from where he was standing while I was inside the bathroom entrance, blouse up, struggling to close my pants, seemingly safely hidden from view by the outside wall. I was embarrassed. He just smiled. Oh well, most men have seen the same or similar in ads for women’s lingerie.

When Jerry Springer first came on television, I enjoyed watching the show; it was such a relief to see those boisterous and unabashed head-slapping freak shows after all the long decades of tedious sermonizing from the sanctimonious Phil, then Sally, then Oprah. Anyone who regularly watches Springer knows that flashing is a recurring feature on the show; the audience routinely encourages women to bare their breasts. Sometimes the flasher is a guest on the show, other times a woman in the audience will pull up her blouse for the cameras; the woman gets a bead necklace, known as Jerry Beads and probably worth a buck, as payment for the flash. Sometimes these women are at the show with friends, family members, their boyfriends or husbands. I’ve wondered what effect this public display has on their relationships. My guess is this behavior isn’t too far out of the norm for some of the women. But what about those other women who flash on national television? Where does that impulse come from?

I’ve seen a few episodes of Cops that have been taped in New Orleans at Mardi Gras; on one of the shows, there was a woman on a balcony who was being encouraged by the crowd to flash, which she eventually did. The cops talked to her, and it was obvious the woman was pretty intoxicated, so they let her off with a warning. But I didn’t get the whole context until I watched some real videos of what happens on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. The men stand on balconies and offer beads and women on the street below solicit the beads by offering to flash. I noticed lots of women offering to flash for a string of beads, so the man gets to choose who he wants to flash for him. Once the woman is chosen and the deal is negotiated, the woman flashes and gets her beads. Some women have enormous piles of beads around their necks. I saw some women in the crowd that had so many beads they were offering to flash but couldn’t because they couldn’t lift their tops under the massive weight of the beads around their necks. I really get it: a little tipsy, in a huge crowd, where no one knows you except maybe a few wild and trusted friends. A chance for women to break out of the chastity belt society expects us to wear the rest of the year. When I was young and perky, I could not have possibly been tempted into it. Later, as a mother, besides my own scruples, I also had my children, family relations, and reputation in the community to think of. Now with my gran out of it, she being the last relation in my birth family, and my children grown enough that it’s on them whether to laugh or be horrified by the things their mother gets up to, would I do it? I think modesty and pride still forbids, though I am no longer moralistic about it. My competitive nature is drawn to the contest: There’s the matter of outdoing the other younger girls. How well would I fare, how many beads could I score? Rate my rack! But in the end, that’s a better reason not to do it. I’d walk down the street not wanting to give any man that satisfaction.

Unless the guy was really good looking and really gay. Then all bets are off.