Ms. P’s ‘alleged’ wardrobe malfunction
Last week, a couple of readers called Kevin Burnham, the esteemed editor of the Boothbay Register and Wiscasset Newspaper, wondering what in blazes was up with Ms. Pigette?
One complained the Boothbay region icon’s clothes had vanished. Another reader wondered if someone filched her winter outfit?
Kevin quickly passed the query on to me. After all, with a local election on the horizon, his plate is full. He has little time to investigate reports that a pig statue holding up a mailbox was “starkers.”
Of course, he was right. But then, editors are always right. I should know, as I have been an editor and been edited. And, to turn a phrase, editors have saved my bacon more than once.
One of the jobs of a local newspaper is to check out things that concern readers. So, as I was already on my way to Sam’s Club to pick up a big supply of paper towels and TP, I stopped by Ms. Pigette’s mailbox on Route 27, and she smiled as she showed off a very fashionable spring outfit, complete with a very tiny pink skirt.
I opened the window of my little blue car and got her attention. “What gives, my beautiful porcine pal? Readers complained that you were standing here in the altogether.”
“Wait a minute, Buster. Are you telling me that people were complaining that I flashed a little booty? People were complaining about moi figure? In earlier days, that would call for a standing ovation, not a complaint.”
I stuttered for a moment then explained that readers were not complaining about her beautiful bod. They were concerned, no, they were flat out worried, that someone mugged her and snatched her chic designer outfit, exposing her to the whims of Mother Nature.
In fact, we noticed that more than a few of her fans stopped for selfies and posted them on Facebook. It took just milliseconds for Mark Zuckerberg to take them down as censors determined her bountiful figure was too, well, too flamboyant for the general public.
“I know, I know,” she answered. “I just wish Zuckerberg and his gang of electronic elves would concentrate on policing the internet when it comes to fake news from Commie countries, offers from the phony Nigerian prince or robocalls from Mars,” she said.
Then she fessed up. “I was caught on the horns of a dilemma. Despite the best efforts of Keith Carson (the brainy Channel 6 weatherman), it was too warm to stay all bundled up in winter gear. I was sweating, er, perspiring a bit, so I dropped it all off.
The warm coastal breeze, (that lasted for 45 seconds or less) felt so good on my beautiful bacon, I just stood there for a while as my fashion assistants, and other New York-based consultants were pouring through the latest issues of WWD, Vogue, Cosmo, and the S.I. swimsuit edition, to determine the direction of my spring fashion ensemble.”
But, like lots of volunteers, they decided to take an afternoon break and, well, someone had brought a nice California red to the meeting, and you can guess the rest.”
I told Ms. P I understood her predicament and wondered how she planned to explain her adventure into the realm of natural freedom sans outfit.
“Explain? Explain? Never explain,” she said. “In the words of Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Rule #45 says: Never explain. And I just love that Gibbs, don’t you,” she said.
As my bride and I have watched “NCIS” and the Gibbs crew for years, I understood why she adopted his rules to her predicament, but thought she might have something to say to her fans who had voiced their concern for her well-being.
“You can tell them to … No, I better not say that, as you will put it in the paper. You can tell them I thank them for their concern and hope flaunting my fabulous figure did not disturb their ingrained sense of New England Puritanism. Remember, no one seems to mind that my sisters, those who work for Walt Disney Studios, frequently parade around the silver screen in scanty outfits and no one gives a darn.”
Then she paused for a moment. “No, belay that statement. Why don’t you just tell them you talked to me and passed on their concerns and leave it at that. OK, smart guy?”
As it was clear our conversation had come to an end, I rolled up the window and put the little car in gear, and was stopped by a shrill whistle.
“Here is what you can tell the readers,” she said.
“You can write that Ms. Pigette loves her fans. That she, appreciates their concerns and hopes they enjoyed her little April Fools’ joke.