I am a diner person. No doubt about it. Fast-food places really don’t entice me though I do occasionally use a drive-up window to get a grab-and-run. So … it was unusual that I found myself standing in the lobby of one of the establishments. Since I was unable to read the drive-up menu, I had gone inside where my luck, and menu reading ability proved no better. Fortunately, an advertisement handout helped me place my order.
I was standing there … and something slipped …
Old Guys and I would surmise a few Older Ladies, have something slip all the time. Mostly it is only a small annoyance that can be attended to without a problem. But, there are times when the slips will be … say … worse come to worse … the infamous dreaded sudden noticeable slip that loudly screams “Go to the RESTROOM RIGHT NOW!” Nope … you cannot postpone, ignore or tarry when this slip announces itself. The results of such a foolishness will be catastrophic and bring to light several new degrees of public shame and utter humiliation.
This was small slip I first wrote off as a nuisance until it happened again, right about the time when the teenager called my number for pickup. A quick check of my waist was reassuring. I had not suffered a debilitating suspender failure. That had happened once before on an elevated train station platform while trying to take an early morning photograph of a speeding train. It was sink or swim; take the photograph, hold up your trousers, take the photograph, hold up your trousers. Unfortunately, the photograph wasn’t worth the embarrassment. There I was with a speeding commuter train racing by … standing out and up there for the whole world and rush hour traffic to see … with my trousers resting comfortably down around my ankles.
Three steps to the counter and there was no debate or doubt to my predicament.
This is how I found myself wearing my special Bud Abbott and Lou Costello “Who’s On First” black and white boxer shorts …
Due to the fact that I hadn’t been able to do a wash because my Sweetheart had been in the hospital for a week, I had to dig deep into the underwear drawer to find something clean to wear. This is how I found myself wearing my special Bud Abbott and Lou Costello “Who’s On First” black and white boxer shorts. Granted … they were sort of an eyesore, and second hand, but to their credit they were roomy and exceptionally comfortable. I liked wearing them.
Unfortunately, additional washing had proved to be hard on the elastic waist band. For a few weeks, they had given subtle hints of eventual failure. It was a kind of “wear at your own risk” warning. But they were really comfortable. Several times it comes to mind, I had pulled them almost up to just below my armpits so they wouldn’t bunch up at my waist.
As I shuffled away from the counter with my order, I realized the weak elastic waist band of my old faithfuls had failed and the whole house of cards had slipped down from my waist, down my rear end and proceeded South. The only saving providence was the fact that the crotch of my trousers had kept them from resting around my ankles.
Each trouser leg was bloused out and gave the appearance that I was shoplifting large quantities of the restaurants napkins and condiments . . .
It felt weird. I looked down and my favorite Bud Abbott and Lou Costello “Who’s On First” black and white boxer shorts were bunched up just above my knees. Each trouser leg was bloused out and gave the appearance that I was shoplifting large quantities of the restaurants napkins and condiments. I was horrified … and social convention says when in the public domain … you don’t put your hands down your trousers and fumble around for anything no matter how innocent your intent. It looks bad and like you are itching, scratching, picking at your rear end or much, much worse.
In my minds eye I could see small children weeping and clinging to their mother’s breast, hiding their eyes from the horror. Mothers would be appalled by the sight of me and would point their fingers in my direction and curse in angry tones filled with disgust. Nothing of the likes was desirable from my end … so I Frankensteined my way out the doorway and made my way out to the car.
In the cramped confines of the front seat I tried to pull up my former wonderfully comfortable undershorts. I twisted and turned, tugged and pulled with little progress to show for my efforts. A cramp in my ribcage didn’t help. Nearly or at least close to being finished, I noticed the pickup truck parked next to me contained an older woman sitting in the passenger seat. She had been watching the whole questionable incident. Fortunately, she didn’t say a word, call the authorities or strike me violently with a rolled up newspaper.
That about did it for me. I sat semi-defeated for a moment with her eyes bearing down at me. With practiced efficiency, I started the car and backed out into the parking lot. It mattered little that the front of my favorite Bud Abbott and Lou Costello “Who’s On First” black and white boxer shorts were pulled up high on my stomach and the back of them was still riding noticeably below my rear-end.