My friend — who shall remain anonymous — e-mailed me about something that happened to her last weekend. Her son went to a neighbor’s house for a sleepover on Saturday. About 10:00pm she texted his iPod to say goodnight. He texted back goodnight. They exchanged a few “love you,” “love your more’s” . And then he texts one more time, with a picture:
“Mommy, I don’t know how your under ware [sic] got in my shirt and its dirty.”
Oh. My. Damn.
It seems her panties (which were clean, by the way) had somehow gotten stuck in his PJs. As her son put on his PJs, her thong fell out. Onto the floor. In a house that has — in addition to a mom she plays Bunco with and a dad who would probably think this story is going to make for great embarrassment material — a freshman in high school, a sixth grader and third grader. All boys.
My friend was totally hosed — no doubt this would prompt giggles, stares and incredible shame at the school bus stop on Monday.
She told me these were her “time of the month” panties. And I was thinking, your “time of the month” panties are thongs? With lace? In a pretty color?
So I went and looked at my “time of the month” panties. And realized that the ripped elastic band, string of fabric coming off the top and racing stripes were not at all, ever, by any stretch of the imagination, in any way, helping me bring sexy back. In fact, sexy was running off screaming in the other direction, scratching its eyeballs out. With a Tampax in its hand.
When it comes to our panties, I’d say we’re both hosed. Right,
Rebecca anonymous friend?