Sunday, August 24, 2014


I'm embarrassed to admit I have pairs of underwear…well, shall we say, not in the best condition (I suspect that's a minor thing to be embarrassed about, considering some of the other admissions I've made in this blog).  The crotches have multiple holes or are wearing so thin you can see through them, and, in several places, fabric's torn off the elastic waistband.  In fact, some of my pairs have been so bad, I've told Chris, one of these days, when I put them on, they'll be nothing more than the waistband.  (When I told Chris I might write this post, he assured me most, if not all, of my readers would know a thing or two about worn underwear.  Please tell me that's the case.)  

Fast forward to yesterday.  Chris and I took a mini-vacation to Park Royal in West Vancouver, something we do from time to time in various parts of the Lower Mainland.  While we looked at Banana Republic for black dress pants for Chris, and a fall shirt for me, I discovered the shelf with underwear, in my size and favorite colors (grey is okay, but black is better).  And they were even discounted.  How could I say no?  I mean, I didn't need them, but…     

This morning, I went through my dresser to locate any pair of underwear I should have retired years ago.  (In the past, I've shown Chris the condition of some of them, holding them up so the holes were visible–and even peering at him through some.  He just shakes his head.  That's when I've looked at him and said, indignantly, "What?  There's at least another ten years worth of wear here."  He ignores me.)  I found several pair today, and showed Chris what I planned to throw out.  He rejoiced.

Before I tossed the pair in the worst condition, I came up with an idea.  I tore everything off the elastic waistband–a task easier to do than I expected (I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised).  Then, scarcely able to hold in my laughter, I got inside the elastic waistband and secured it around me.  I walked out of my bathroom and stepped into the upstairs hallway, where Chris had his head down, pulling clothes out of the laundry hamper.     

I wish I could have been deadpan when I delivered my line, but, glancing down at myself, and seeing how ridiculous I looked, it was all I could do to get out, "So what do you think?  This should give me a lot of support, huh?"  (I'm laughing so hard as I type this, I can't see what I'm doing.)  Chris looked at me and rolled his eyes.  I couldn't stop laughing my face off, and he was as straightfaced as he could be (sometimes, he has no sense of humor).

His response?  "Sure," he said.  "Go ahead.  Give it a try.  See how it works for ya."

No, kids, there are no visual aids.  You'll have to use your imagination on this one.   

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