Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Without A Thong


The day before I bought my first washer and dryer, Dave explained why he never minded going to the Laundromat. "There are always a lot of women in there," he said. "And a whole lot of them are completely out of underwear."

They are marvelously convenient appliances, but I'm well aware that the dryer is an energy hog. So when it was stupid-hot this summer, and I was already pissy about it, I realized I would be damned if I was going to turn it on. I whined about wanting a clothesline to Dave, and whined and whined and stamped my feet, and he got out a rope and strung it up outside. Probably for the clothes.

It was grand. I found a bag of clothespins, my actual childhood clothespins, and I happily began to string up a load of wash. The rope wasn't really long enough, but by the time I'd gotten to the end of it, in a hot wind that could only have come from Hell or California, the first items were bone dry and ready to peel off. I loved the whole process. I loved how the towels came off stiff. It reminded me of my youth. Mom used a wringer in the basement, and then the clothes went outside to dry. There was a big mulberry tree in the neighbor's yard with plump purple fruit. Dad liked it because it attracted birds. Mom hated it because it attracted birds. I remember how she used to dry the white sheets and iron them before folding them up just so. Her kids all learned to bake bread like she did, but sheet-ironing died with her generation. I can't even fold sheets. I'm a wadder.

So I thought our array of drying clothes was rather jolly, but Dave was a little less fervent.
"Great," he muttered, "there are all our tighty-whities and granny panties flapping out there for all the world to see."


Honey. Ain't no one in the neighborhood going to be surprised at our tighty-whities and granny panties. They've assumed them for years.

"Am I on Craig's list? Can I see a copy?" Granny panties.

"The computer needs more memory. I keep forgetting where I put my files." Tighty-whities.

"I don't mind if the neighbors have a little party every now and then, but Jeesus Peezus, it's eight-thirty." Granny panties.

"Look at that guy walking around with his ass hanging out of his pants. Hey buddy! Ever heard of a belt?" Tighty-whities.

"Four bucks for a cup of coffee? Are they kidding me?" Granny panties.

"I must have gone ten miles without seeing a pay phone. I don't know what they expect people to do." Tighty-whities.

"Could you come in here and do that pingy thing with our computer? It keeps freezing up no matter how hard I click on it." Granny panties.

"Have you seen my, oh, what the hell is that, you know, my..."
"Your..."
"That thing, that thing that you do that thing with, starts with a G..."
"Pipe wrench?" Tighty-whities and granny panties.

13 comments:

  1. Great laugh! thanks! You know,we have a clothes line too, and John (tightie whitie guy) always puts the underwear on the edge of the laundry basket to dry-not on the line...but I'm thinkin' I'm going go buy some thongs -not to wear - just to hang on the line -give the neighburs something to think about!

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  2. Tell Dave his tighty-whiteys--oops, should know how to spell that by now--can hide right up by the house. All he has to do is go get a multistring pull-out laundry line job at the hardware store (like mine) and--this may be harder--find something to screw it into. All of those super secret garments can snuggle behind the other lines full of stiff towels and pillow cases, and he can continue to pretend he has no such possessions.

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  3. And tell Murr the clothespin she's chewing on looks like a cigar.

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  4. ...and the dryer begat the body scrub. For lo, before God gave Man the dryer, there were Stiff Towels.

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  5. Those are some fine tighty-whities.
    My mom calls them: Drillies (women's), Undies (men's) and spanky-pants (kid's).

    And stiff towels....I would choose the stiffest towel in the world over a fluffy, sissy towel.

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  6. That Dave is a practical fellow!

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  7. I love this post, Granny Panties!
    My mom's side of the family irons underwear. And kitchen towels. But we don't have dryers.

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  8. I love this post, Granny Panties!
    My mom's side of the family irons underwear. And kitchen towels. But we don't have dryers.

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  9. That Dave is a practical fellow!

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  10. Rosemary LombardApril 5, 2011 at 3:32 PM

    Tell Dave his tighty-whiteys--oops, should know how to spell that by now--can hide right up by the house. All he has to do is go get a multistring pull-out laundry line job at the hardware store (like mine) and--this may be harder--find something to screw it into. All of those super secret garments can snuggle behind the other lines full of stiff towels and pillow cases, and he can continue to pretend he has no such possessions.

    ReplyDelete