“Why’d you send a pair of your undies to daycare?” the husband of a friend of mine asked his wife this week.
“What? What did you just say?” my friend demanded. She was serving up dinner and froze spooning out the peas.
“They were in our son’s daycare bag. They told me they dropped out when they were removing his sleep sheet.”
“How…?” She looked at her son. She knew how. “Why…?” But he wasn’t talking.
“Don’t worry about it,” her husband told her. “They said that sort of thing happens all the time.”
Undies are like rabbits in that they do tend to appear out of thin air when there’s a crowd. I myself have had an undie incident.
It was back when I was having a colonoscopy down the Coast and had just dropped my tracky dacks in preparation. When my pants where bundled around my ankles in preparation for removal I noticed something pink poking out of a trouser leg. Slowly, because I was confused as to what they could be, I pulled them out and stood up. They were a pair of my wife’s knickers.
I was grinning at the ridiculousness of my find when I noticed all eyes were on me.
“They’re not mine,” I told the room of medical professionals.
“Sure,” said one doctor with an especially smirky, patronizing bedside manner.
“Honest!” I said, looking appealingly at the other doctors and nurses.
There was no comforting second opinion here – it seemed they’d all reached the same diagnosis.
Neither was any comfort forthcoming for my friend, she being unaware of my unfortunate undie story and her husband’s casual assurances the daycare centre said this sort of thing wasn’t particularly uncommon not helping. In a word, she was horrified.
Or at least, she thought she was horrified. The actual true meaning of the word was revealed to her seconds later because her husband hadn’t finished yet.
“Oh,” he said, as if just remembering something. He let the ‘oh’ hang there for a second while he leant over and snatched a pea to pop in his mouth. “They were dirty undies too. They had skiddies.”
This got her truly horrified ass moving.
She raced through the house and snatched up her son’s daycare bag, dumping everything on the bed. Sure enough, there were a pair of her undies amongst the debris.
“It wasn’t like the daycarer was ever going to miss them,” she told me when she was retelling the story. “They were fluoro orange!”
But what they weren’t was dirty. Their son had obviously (thankfully?) pulled them from the clean washing pile, not the dirty, when he packed his bag.
So why did the daycarer say they had skiddies…?
“Got ya,” said her husband from the bedroom door.
What a shit. And from her description of the look on his face, he’d have made a great doctor.
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Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his Big Family Little Income Facebook Page
”Raising a family on little more than laughs.”