Atomic Wedgies and Packing Fails

It’s underwear week here at The Great Unwashed. Oh heck, who am I kidding it’s always underwear week. I might as well change my blog’s name to “The Great Underpants”, given how often I discuss my bikini briefs. In fact, if either “underpants” or “underwear” are typed into the search bar, you’ll come up with about fifteen  entries, which considering that I’ve written just over one hundred and fifty posts here,  means about ten percent of the time I’m expounding on my skivvies.

I’m spending the weekend at my Dad’s house. For once in my life I was all “Boo Yah, take that, life!” because I remembered to bring not only the paint that my friend requested but also a puzzle for my uncle and I followed that up with storing the gift cards to shop at the sweet, sweet outlet store near my grandmother’s in the outside pocket of my weekend bag. I was feeling high and mighty having conquered the packing monster whom I normally lose battles with.

The Packing Monster has a laugh like Bowser from the Nintendo 64 Mario game. (Photo Credit : tidyawaytoday.wordpress.com)

The Packing Monster has a laugh like Bowser from the Nintendo 64 Mario game. (Photo Credit : tidyawaytoday.wordpress.com)

Then, while dressing to go to church this morning I reached into my trusty suitcase and pulled out tights, a skirt, an undershirt, a top but no underwear. And it was then that I heard the packing monster chortling it’s hearty laugh all the way from my home two hours away. “Ha ha ha” the packing monster guffawed, “looking for these?” it asked, holding up a pair of my underoos with a menacing smile. Of course, this entire scene occurred in my mind while I contemplated whether praying commando was a sin or not, and if my copy of “Strong’s Concordance of the Bible” could answer such a question.

Without consulting my concordance, I concluded that, while not a sin reciting the Lord’s Prayer in only a short skirt and tights was not ideal. Holding up yesterday’s unmentionables, I grimaced; I had both travelled and run seven kilometers in them. Not a great solution. With a heavy heart, I headed towards the chest of drawers that once held my entire wardrobe but is now a home for odds and ends that don’t seem to belong anywhere.

And that’s where I found them; underpants so giant that they make the pair that I bought for fifty cents which can be folded down over my jeans to create a thick lacy belt look small. A pair of underpants so enormous that once, Santa’s sack ripped and he considered using the briefs as a substitute but decided they were too roomy and gifts could potentially fall out.

I'm not certain how they managed to fit in my drawer. (Photo Credit : fark.com)

I’m not certain how they managed to fit in my drawer. (Photo Credit : fark.com)

Those were the undergarments I donned this morning. On the bright side, if it rains I won’t give myself a wedgie when I reach backwards and pull my underwear up over my head to protect my hair because the elastic band is already sitting just under my shoulder blades to begin with.

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7 thoughts on “Atomic Wedgies and Packing Fails

    • Thank you Mr. Murray, for a normal person that would have been an extremely helpful suggestion, tragically I sweat to the point that all of my clothing needs to be wrung out. And that’s when I’m not running. I shall pass that along to other bad packers who don’t become human swamp monsters when they run.

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