Friday, May 21, 2010

Where have I been?

One of my scarce-as-hens'-teeth loyal readers, Jo, mentioned that I haven't posted much lately.
Without going into agonising detail (like I usually do), I'll just say that it's our busy season as work, and I've been a little preoccupied with some "stuff" happening at home, and I have lost all my marbles.

I do have another blog post in the chamber, ready to fire out when I get a moment or two.
It concerns motorcycle parts, scantily-clad women, the US postal service (and I use the term service, loosely), humiliation, and a guy named Steve, in Germany.

Stay tuned...
...and thanks for your loyalty, all three of you!
Kathryn : )

Saturday, May 8, 2010

The plot thickens...and then it curdles.

I'm re-using a title I used already.  I was updating a group of friends on some events in my life, and that expression seemed to fit the situation. 
Now I'm going to talk about a different situation, so same title, different story.  OK?  OK !
Remember my last post, about me finding a strange pair of boots in my front hallway, and jumping to conclusions? (I nearly said jumping to conTUsions, lol - that's what the men in my life do).

Anyhow, my dear husband has told me more than once that I need to "not always think the worst".

Believe me, I try.  

But, what would you think if the following happened to you?
I was getting into my car to go to work one morning.  It is MY car, but other people drive it occasionally.  I LOVE my car - fun to drive, good on gas, and the rear seats fold forward to create a totally flat, large cargo area in the back.  Perfect for lugging around motorcycle parts and other weird things.  Large enough to sleep on!
As I climbed into the front seat on that particular day, I glanced in the back.  Amongst the usual collection of cloth grocery bags I saw....

...a pair of underwear.
Men's underwear.

Not the type my husband wears, but the kind my son wears.  Cotton plaid boxers.  Except I don't recognize them as being HIS in particular; just youthful plaid cotton boxers.

Now, what would  pair of men's underwear be doing in the back of my car?  Try as I might, all sorts of weird images come to mind.  Some of them I will not share. (brokeback mountain).  Oops.

Has someone been sleeping in my car?  There is a homeless shelter a few blocks away, and I have heard of homeless people sleeping in people's cars.  Would a homeless person leave their underwear behind?  Why did they take it off in the first place?  Has their naked body touched the inside of my car?  Did they get dressed in the dark in a hurry and forget to put on the underwear?
Also, one of our son's friends has recently left home and sometimes needs a place to stay.  Is it his?  Is my dear son letting his friend sleep in my car?  How do I feel about this?  Bamboozled, as usual!

I can't stand the thought of driving this pair of underwear to work with me (what if I were to get pulled over for speeding?), so I pick it up in such a way as to hold the fewest threads possible at the very end of my fingertips, and transfer it to a garbage can sitting in the driveway.

The garbage can has some rainwater in it ; I see the underwear sink in and I realize I have made strange underwear soup.  I wonder if I need to do something about this, but I choose to go to work instead.  There, I will find my husband, and I will rant and rave until he phones our son and asks about the underwear.  Not that it's our son's underwear, but it is young man underwear, so he should have to explain it.

I drive to work and in the 20 minutes it takes me I manage to start to think about groceries, the Olympics, hockey, menopause, my parents, supper, cat hair, k d lang, needlework, the fact that the back of my hands look old, etc........and I FORGET about the underwear!

Later that night, the underwear comes to me in a dream.  I am re-immersed in wondering where it came from.  I toss and turn, and decide that my son is letting homeless people sleep in my car and that my husband knows all about it and doesn't care.
I wake up to find my husband already showered and dressed.

"Good morning bunny!", he says cheerfully to me. (Yes, I am his bunny!)

"Someone left their underwear in my car", I croak.  "Who's been sleeping in my car?"

"Oh", he laughs.  "I got those from the rag bag.  I was using them to polish blah blah blah......."


I guess I need a bit more practice in "not jumping to conclusions". 
But wait, why is my son throwing away perfectly good underwear?