This has been a very lazy, brain-dead couple of days for me. It was the sort of weekend where I did little, thought less, and spent most of my time concentrating on looking scruffy and unkempt. That's two straight days of practice -- I'm getting pretty damned good at this. By now, even the dog turns up her nose and runs away from me.
Tomorrow, of course, I'll clean up and presentablize myself. Until then, I've got a nice comfortable 'wallow' going, and I don't see any reason to ease up until morning. Unfortunately, that doesn't lend itself to getting much writing done -- you've got to slouch way too much to type, if you're being properly slovenly.
But in honor of lazy, hazy weekends everywhere, I'll stay mostly upright long enough to relay this:
Five Really Unfortunate Ways to Discover You've Got Your Boxer Shorts on Backwards
1, Standing at your toilet fumbling around with your crotch, trying desperately to find the 'peephole' to release that Big Gulp you had with dinner last night.
2. Walking past a window and catching a draft. In your colon, because your peephole's 'round back this morning.
3. Standing on your porch and bending over, away from a passing school bus, to fetch the morning paper. 'Hidey-ho, children!'
4. Absent-mindedly scratching your ass first thing in the morning. Through the peephole. Gah.
5. Sitting on a counter -- a cruelly cold granite counter -- while sipping your morning coffee. That there's no hole in the front of your underwear for your now-spilled coffee to leak through will be of vanishingly small comfort.
I'm not saying any of these things happened to me this weekend, necessarily. I'm just saying these would be really, really bad ways to find out you've been sporting your undies ass-backwards.
On the other hand, I am planning on teaching the dog to fetch the newspaper, boarding over all the windows in our house, and upholstering the kitchen counters with down blankets. Nice, warm down blankets.
Still, I'm not confirming or denying anything. You'd think, after thirty-plus years of mostly reliable underwear wearing, that maneuvering into a pair would be second nature by now. And I'll let you continue to think that, by not offering any more details on the matter.
Coincidentally, I'm sure the fact that the school buses don't come down our street any more is completely unrelated.
And no, I don't have any idea why they started throwing 'Moon Pies' at the house. I SAID IT'S UNRELATED, DAMMIT!
Can't a guy sit on his down-covered countertop and drink a bedtime Big Gulp in peace? Sheesh.