Have you ever seen underwear on the side of the road and wondered what kinda life that person is living that they would leave their underwear on the side of the road? Well, let me tell you.
Clara and I went to have the windshield replaced on the van today. The windshield shop was relatively close to the Scout shop that we needed to go to anyway, so we left the windshield place and started the great upward trek. I was unprepared for how far that walk would be. Without going into any details, the underwear I was wearing were greatly unsuited for mountain climbing and became more uncomfortable by the second. I warned Clara I was going to rip my underwear off and stuff them in my purse. As a preteen she was appropriately horrified, but I was undeterred. I couldn’t figure out how to rip them no matter how hard I tried while continuing down the sidewalk of the busiest intersection in Colorado. The lack of ripping might be the broken finger I’ve done nothing about or perhaps I need to take better notes from Hulk Hogan and early 90s WWF. I couldn’t make it work and actual pain was setting in, so I did next what any self respecting person with a panty problem would do.
I ducked behind a rusty vintage car in a discarded tire yard and stabbed at the sides of my underwear with a pen from my purse frantically until I got a big enough hole to rip them off like I’m the protagonist of a cheap novel with Fabio on the cover. I did not toss them on the side of the road though. I did tuck them not so discreetly into my purse so that I’ll surely forget about them later and fling them at a gate guard when I go to pull out my wallet for my ID check- thereby accelerating our move and causing me to call Jerry and ask him if there are jobs on Mars yet.
So there you have it. That’s what kind of life underwear on the side of the road people are living. That.