"Oh Jim," she said, looking away. "Not again."

My smile matched that of the archaic youth. "Oops, forgot to zip up."

"Yeah," she said, "like you forgot yesterday. Why do you do this, Jim?"

Mandy was a pretty good sport about my little oversights. Yesterday as we walked through the park I took a spill over a tree root, and came up after rolling in the fresh autumn leaves with my pants open and my chapstick hanging out, a speck of brown leaf on it. Mandy had given a sharp intake of breath and looked the other way. When I apologized, she said, "How did you manage to do that?" She meant, how did my fly come open when I fell down? I didn't have a good answer to that and she acted insulted.

She was taking it a lot better than my last, Sharon. After Sharon and I took a dip in the pool at my apartment complex late at night and then padded back to my digs, she turned to find my pazooter dangling and dripping dry on the carpet. "Oh!" was all she said, and clapped her hands to her mouth, eyes big. She wouldn't even listen to my excuse about getting the drawstring on my trunks tangled. She gathered her things and left for good. 

Then before Sharon, Rhonda and I were alone on the third floor of a used bookstore when my hairless mouse poked its head out of my pants for a breath of fresh air. It was our second date and I guess Rhonda's men didn't ordinarily have this type of mishap so early in the relationship. "Will you look at that," I said. "I was just trying to put this book back on the shelf and my hand must have got caught in my zipper, undoing it." But Rhonda simply turned and went back down the stairs, alone. After that she never returned my calls although I left many messages on her voicemail to "Please call Mr. P, he misses you." 

Before Rhonda there had been Tina, who was a good sport up to a point. We were having a picnic in an isolated spot in the woods and I went to pull the tab on her can of beer. To make it short, I had trouble twisting the tab off and in a flurry of movements succeeded in undoing my fly and releasing my piccolo. Its delicate pinks and blues flashed in the sun right beside Tina's ham sandwich on whole wheat. Tina, who I think was high on something in addition to bringing along beer for lunch, in defiance of the rules of the picnic area prohibiting alcohol, was already on her fourth can and feeling relaxed. She giggled and said something like, "Hey man, I can see your chi chi," and then fell out snoring on our blanket. Evidently she didn't relish seeing my chi chi again, however, since after this more or less satisfactory outing she didn't return my calls. 

So unlike those others, Mandy at least hasn't run out on me. She's the only one who's stuck with me despite my extreme clumsiness in my crotch area and hung on for two inadvertent exposures of the one-eyed weasel. But even Mandy was getting concerned.

"I think you need help, Jim, if we're going to go on seeing each other." 

I'd put my business back in order and we were on our way out of the museum to the parking lot. 

"It's harmless enough, don't you think?" I said. "And it's not like I'm doing it on purpose."

"It's not harmless. It makes we worry about what else you might do without thinking."

I unlocked the passenger door of my car for Mandy and then went around to the driver's side. I was unlocking the door just as two women arrived at their car next to me. 

Somehow I lost my composure, got my keys tangled in my fly and out flopped shorty before their astonished eyes. I managed to rewrap my package and get in the car with Mandy none the wiser.

"Let me work on it," I told her. "I think I can control it."

"There's that smile again," she said.