Running out of clean underpants

If you’re my age, 62, you know to always wear clean underwear. You will most certainly be in a car wreck, some sort of emergency will occur, anything MEDICAL which will involve emergency technicians to rip off your clothing to administer aid. This will happen. Do not question it… if you wear inferior underpants, you will need emergency aid.

This is one of the laws of the jungle. Question it to your peril — it will happen to you.

Many facts were drilled into my little thick skull (a parental nomenclature referring to my inability to learn from my mistakes) as a child. Probably the top three (there were so many, how can I prioritize?) included pristine, like-new, underpants at all times.

What were the other life lessons drilled into my thick little skull? Eat your toast and you’ll grow hair on your chest. Obviously, not a priority as I aged out of that one rather quickly. It went right along with eat every carrot and pea on your plate, the family joke…

Never ride a bike or take a walk at dusk. This was a BIG one. My mother told me, probably on a daily basis from age four to age forty, “No one can see at dusk. This is when you get killed by cars or ersatz bicyclists.”

Yesterday, Emmett (age 10) decided to go for a bike ride at 5:30 p.m. Not with this Nana in charge! Oh no, the poor kid didn’t have a chance, I stopped him mid-helmet procural, and told him “NO, it’s dusk, this is when people get killed.” He looked at me like I’d lost my mind, informed me that his parents let him ride his bike at dusk and then gave me the Glare That Would Wither Voldemort and yet I did not cave. He skulked away to watch one of the infernal TV sets that mock me from every corner of his house.

As my week of childcare comes to an end tomorrow, I pride myself in not saying the Cardinal Rule to the boys. You too should be proud of me, as I did not one time ask about the cleanliness, newness or any other state of their underpants, as this was over stepping the Nana Boundaries.

We are having a relationship “moment” with a sixth-grade girlfriend/boyfriend situation and since no one is reading this, I’ll write more about a relationship-by-text at a later date. God forbid they actually TALK, no, it’s all text. I think you should all be forewarned, all of you who don’t read this, that one of the next topics will be “How to explain the definition of PMS to a 12 year old boy” and all the entails.

Enjoy your non-day, my non-readers.

It’s comforting to know that no one is out there reading. Let’s keep it that way, shall we? I write, you ignore. Thanks.


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