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I used to flash cars.  Nothing too scandalous; underwear was involved, but it was definitely something I knew I shouldn’t be doing.  That’s why it was so embarrassing to be caught.
Rich was my next-door neighbor.  He was a kindly guy, about my parents’ age, and about as different from his wife as possible.  While Susan was loud and boisterous, Rich was reserved, genuine.  He had a funny side, but it really only came out with us kids.  He’d wink at one of us while engrossed in a serious conversation about business with our dad, or lean over and tickle us unexpectedly, blathering incoherently in the best Donald Duck voice I’ve heard to this day.  I love him.
So of course it was mortifying to be caught by him that day.  I had woken at the usual time.  It was summer, so I had nothing to do, and nothing to wear.  When I opened my closet, my eye was caught by something I hadn’t worn in far too long.  The Halloween before I had agreed to be the Princess of Hearts (I wouldn’t be the Queen, no matter how much my older sister reasoned.  She had that ugly thing behind her head!  I stand by my decision), and my sister’s best friend had taken her mom’s old prom dress from the sixties, a teeny blue number, and they had dyed it red for me and glued felt hearts all over it, red and white.  I looked awesome.  I kept that dress until it disappeared one day (I’m sure my mom threw it out; it was pretty ratty), and I still miss it every now and then.  I felt so grown up and so pretty in that dress.
So that fateful day my eyes fell on the deep red of my old Princess dress.  I pulled it from its hanger and quickly wrenched it over my head.  I looked in the mirror, saw myself in all my splendor, and had a sudden urge to go outside.  We lived on a quiet street, which, I now realize, means we probably knew almost anyone driving by.  At the time, though, I was blissfully unaware.  As each car drove by I bent in half, throwing my skirts, hearts and all, over my head and giving the people in the car a very clear view of my little mermaid undies.  Sometimes, if the car was especially unfamiliar, I would waggle my bottom just a little bit.  Just in case they didn’t see me, I guess.
But on this day, the cars weren’t my only audience members.  About four or five cars into my routine, my head getting hot under all that tulle, I heard a throat being cleared.  I froze mid-waggle.  As I lifted my head, dreading what I’d find, I looked through the white picket slats of Rich and Susan’s fence, through the plants of which Rich took such painstaking care, to see him crouched there among the roses, trowel in hand, trying his best to look stern.  He wasn’t doing so well.  As I fled as quickly as my Princess feet would go I heard him burst into a loud guffaw.  
Rich still brings up this story at gatherings.  And I still turn the color of that old ratty dress, wherever it is.