Attention! Victoria’s Secret Is No Longer The Sexiest Thing on The Market, Welcome To Roscoe’s Secret

One of my favourite things in the whole world is to drop trou and have a good laugh. By that I mean one of my hobbies is finding outrageously ugly underpants and then laughing while wearing said undergarments.

English: A Holstein heifer on pasture of a dai...

I wanted to include a photo of the underpants in question, but The Great Unwashed isn’t that kind of blog. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A couple of years ago Roscoe got me the mack daddy pair of ugly underpants. They had neon pink piping and a bizarre Holstein cross Dalmatian print. The crowning glory of this hot mess was of course the rhinestone and gold message on the bum “Gorgeous”. Or at least I think it says gorgeous, the font is strange and difficult to read. Gorgeous seems ironic and perfect so I’ve decided that the indecipherable lettering says just that.

So I was getting ready for bed the other night when Roscoe came in. “What ever happened to your “Hey Cow” underwear?” he asked nonchalantly  while pulling on a pyjama shirt as though this was a reasonable question and not one that would land him in huge trouble. “My what?” I asked, bewildered and more than a little angry.

“You know the pink ones, with the cow print that say “Hey Cow” on the back.

It was then that I realized that my husband wasn’t comparing me to a farm animal but he actually thought that someone had created women’s underwear with a message about cattle on them.

So without further adieu, what the lingerie world would look like if Roscoe was at the helm of Victoria’s Secret’s design team.

  • Bright yellow granny panties with the words “WIDE LOAD” in bold, black font
  • A normal looking set of bikini briefs with the exception of a big red flag on the back, because here in Canada, when we transport something too large for our cars we hang red flags off the back.
  • “Beep, Beep, Beep” written in reflective red on the bum of forest green underpants. Comes complete with a button and batteries to add the sound of a truck backing up
  • Saggy grey underpants with swirly cursive on the rear “You can call me elephant”
  • White panties with a multi-coloured sprinkle pattern and the message “Krispy Kremes are the only food group” on the back

Waking Up With Robin Williams

Good Morning, Vietnam

This is of course every man’s dream; waking up next to a sweaty, bellowing comedian. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

At 6:30 PM on Friday I was nearly face down in my dinner. “I’m going to bed at eight” I murmured to Roscoe. “That’s fine but you are not allowed to get up at 4 AM” he replied. While most people get into a cycle of staying up late and sleeping in later on weekends, my bad habit is going to sleep earlier and getting up before the crack of dawn. This wouldn’t be a problem were it not for my behaviour in the morning. Unfortunately for Roscoe I’m one of those people who bolts upright in bed, punching the air and bellowing “Hello World. Let’s go!”


For Roscoe’s sake I try to keep a lid on it and not immediately start jumping around like a three year old hopped up on sugar, I give it about two hours. However two hours later when you’ve gotten up at four o’clock in the morning is still six o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. Hence why Roscoe prefers to move my grand entrance back one hour.


Our morning routine begins as such, after the magical two hours have passed, I throw open the door to the bedroom and with all of the subtlety of Robin Williams in “Good Morning Vietnam” say “GOOOOOOOOOD Morrrrrrrrrning Roscoooooooe”. Then I launch myself into the air and onto the bed. Sometimes Roscoe is inadvertently head butted by my exuberance at this point. However he doesn’t have a moment to regroup and think “Did my wife really just head butt me in the nose?” because I’m already shooting statements and questions at him rapid fire. “It’s morning! I’m awake. Watch me do downward dog. Do you see how my heels touch the ground? Isn’t that great? I think we should have eggs for breakfast. Can I make you a coffee? We need to go on a walk.”


This is invariably followed by Roscoe uttering very nicely but through gritted teeth “I just. Need. A minute.” I’ll then bounce out of the room, the doorway practically vibrating with the energy I’m giving off and make my way into the kitchen which is located directly behind the bedroom. “AAAAAAAAeeeeeggggs. I love eggs.” I’ll sing, or some other similar song while Roscoe groans into his pillow.


He’ll give up the pretense of getting any more rest after about five minutes of me warbling and crashing pots and pans in the next room but I think he needs those extra moments of quasi slumber. One can understand why he rejoices when I sleep in past seven though.


The Issue of My Husband

So it was brought to my attention last night by Roscoe that I although I have been writing about him for eons, this was the first time he was referenced in a public place. Given his chosen profession, this could potentially create a problem. Which is completely understandable- people get very touchy about how John A. MacDonald is portrayed in Victor/Victoria style drag shows.

For all of you reading who don’t know Roscoe, that’s a joke. However talking about him or his job is a problem. So I’ve decided to deal with it in the most unorthodox manner possible. Henceforth, online I shall be divorced from my husband and intermittently marry and divorce random objects of my choosing in his place.

Problem solved.

This week I’ve chosen to be married to Roscoe an overstuffed puce ottoman. So whenever I describe my adventures or reference my husband you can picture me, cuddling up to a purplish coloured ottoman whispering sweet nothings in it’s ear like “High thread count, velour coverings, mahogany legs”.

I really feel this is an amazing solution.

And because of the reference to puce I think Granddad ought to like it too.