What if you get run over by a bus?
As you can imagine, I was an angelic child who never gave my parents the slightest moment of concern. Consequently, my mother took it upon herself to worry about trivialities, one of which was the state of my underpants.
I had a tendency to wear them even after they had developed holes (which I still do), and I had a tendency to wear them for longer than I should (which I no longer do). She worried about this.
“What if you get run over by a bus?”, she would fret?
I suggested that having a hole in my only slightly smelly pants would be the least of my worries if I had just been flattened by several tons of bus.
“Yes, but the nurses and doctors would see your underpants and think I was a bad mother”.
“So, if your only child had been reduced to pulp by a number 47, your main concern would be the medical staff’s appraisal of your maternal capabilities based on the state of my no doubt blood-soaked pants?”
These conversations usually went on for a while; and I was reminded of them as we headed for Bangkok yesterday afternoon.
She who must be obeyed puts herself in charge of “packing” when we go anywhere. Naturally, I do the important stuff like ensuring I have the right camera gear and chargers available, but the clothes packing is sub-contracted to her on the basis that she always takes much more apparel than I do, and my needs are so simple even a wife could handle them. But, apparently not, as she came over all excited on the motorway when she realised that she had not packed any underpants for me.
I was my usual calm and magnanimous self, and after screaming at her and threatening divorce for only a few kilometres, I said I could buy some more when we get to Bangkok to replace my current collection (which she had forgotten to pack, I reminded her again) that just happened to contain more holes than is normal. But she had an alternative suggestion:
“I have a pair which are too large for me, you could probably squeeze into those?”
“What, me in a pair of ladies panties?”
“Yes, why not, you would look cute.”
“What if I got run over by a bus? What would the hospital staff think?”
“Haha, you worry too much.”
So it was somewhat ironic that twelve hours later I found myself in hospital wearing a pair of my wife’s knickers.
To be continued….
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