My life as waterlogged pirate bait

I went through a painful punk stage in my late years of high school, wearing chains and ties and little red kilts. One fine day I had decided to wear my little red kilt with chains on the side. I was out at a friends party and fell in the pool. Drenched and cold, I opted out of driving home, took my skirt off and hung it out the window to dry. A car full of girls, we were bopping around, listening to the latest in chick music (i had definitly only taken to the fashion portion of this punk phase). As we were driving, we saw a cute gentlemen in a nice white truck pull up beside us. We did a little eye-flirting and kept on driving. Singing away, this truck pulled up really fast and snatched my beloved kilt. Appauled by this act of theivery, I demanded that our driver catch this pirate and bring back my kilt. We followed to truck all the way into a dark alley, realizing the danger we were about to ensue and the small fact that I was wearing but my unmentionables, we left the kilt-theives and drove on home. I'm posting this in hopes of some sort of peace offering or kilt recovery from the guilty party.