Monday, October 25, 2010

Superman and His Boxer Briefs

early June 2005
Department store in Colorado

My cousin M is getting married and I have already purchased an entire new outfit. I actually like to go to my favorite store, find the perfect dress, gaze at myself in it then give myself a mini aneurysm trying to figure out what event we are going to that will justify yet another new outfit. This was all pre-baby by the way. I would still do the same thing now but I never actually get to leave the house without children. It is common knowledge that shopping with small children is about as much fun as jamming a fork into your thigh. Also, the budget for diapers came right out of my clothing allowance, but I digress. Anyway, this little yellow number will be perfect for my cousin M's wedding! AHA! Now, what is the hub going to wear? If it were up to him it would be jeans, boots and some kind of camo shirt. Well, not when I am looking this slammin'. We go to the "nice" department store at the mall and find some cream linen slacks and a tangerine linen shirt with a bit of embroidery. My man looks HOT in this, and he will keep cool in the sticky Iowa summer weather. Now this brings up the issue of undergarments.  Although it seems to be, let's not say "popular", but "common" to wear one's undergarments for the world to view, that is not the sort of (fashion?) trends to which we subscribe.  My traditional husband only owns boxers, clearly all of the plaid variety, which are not going to work under these pants. So I find him some sleek and sexy boxer briefs, something my gay friends would even approve of, and then I, I mean he, feels satisfied with the ensemble and we head home.

later June 2005
Iowa at my cousin M's wedding

My husband and I meet in the kitchen of my Grandmother's house, ready to leave for the church. Family pictures precede the hour long Catholic ceremony. We soon pull into the parking lot and walk into the church, just as the last family photo has been snapped.  Of course. We are both diseased with Lateness. Is there a pill for that? The wedding starts about an hour or so later. It was beautiful and the best part was that lightening didn't even strike me while inside the church. Well that and the fact that my cousin was now married to the love of his life. Blah, blah, blah.

4 p.m.
We then head out to get drunk, stupid and dance to songs we loathe, or what is commonly called "the reception". A good time was had by all. I don't remember much except that someone (clearly intoxicated) told me that I looked like Jennifer Aniston. She became my new best friend for the next two minutes. I don't actually recall her name or face, but I knew I liked her immediately. ( I look NOTHING like Jennifer Aniston, it had to have been my rockin' yellow dress). As the party was drawing to a close, we were discussing renting a motel room for the night. My favorite aunt and uncle overheard and insisted we crash at their house which was only minutes away. So we loaded our rumpled partied-out selves into our vehicle at 10 pm and headed to their house.

Let me just say that my favorite aunt and uncle are classy, composed people. They know how to have fun while keeping their good manners intact. This is a skill that my husband and I seem to generally lack. We are decent people, it is just that both of us were born without a filter. Filter-schmilter. Some people like their coffee grounds right in the cup! Right? Anyway, we drink some wine and chat for a bit before heading off to bed.  They show us to our boudoir. It is midnight by the time we get to the point of undressing ourselves. I am possibly a bit delirious at this juncture. My head no longer knows how to process all the oxygen that sea level has to offer. I am bent over, slipping off my shoes when I hear "What do you think?". I lift my head from my bent position, which happens to be crotch level, to see my husband standing in front of me like Superman, complete with the hands on hips, chin up and to the side, and the legs out like he just conquered the planet. It is then I notice (because my face is literally RIGHT THERE) that he is wearing his new boxer briefs BACKWARDS. His junk is smashed in there like playdough. I then started the silent, shaking, crying laughter. It soon escalates (did I mention I had been drinking for 8 hours?) into loud gasping and snorting. He looks confused and hurt and I say "did you notice that you have been wearing them backwards for about 12 HOURS?". He then, with a straight face, says "I wondered where the hole was when I was trying to pee.".

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