Just a Little Song and Dance About My Underpants

Well. I have been writing about some pretty deep shit lately. I suppose I have been in a somewhat contemplative sort of mood. Contemplation is good. Everyone should do it. But I knew that it could not last. Something of the non-deep variety was bound to occur. And today just happened to be the day of that sort of occurrence.

So. Many of you are aware of the fact that I work with a kooky bunch. They are all a little bit. Well. Uh. Different. But I love them all dearly. Except for our former bookkeeper who was recently fired for embezzling large sums of money from the firm. I do not care for her so much. Everyone else I love. I love dearly. But I already said that. You know. I should say it again. Because I really mean it. I love them all dearly. There. I have said it. Thrice.

And the reason I love these people dearly is simple. Our office is one happy dysfunctional family. On any given day I can expect to be yelled at or slapped or otherwise made to feel as if I should just go to my room without dinner. Yeah. That makes it feel just like home. And it makes me rather nostalgic for my childhood and my mother's proclivity toward the wooden spoon beat down.

But my childhood dysfunction is not at issue here. That is an issue for my therapist. If I could actually afford a therapist.

And speaking of affording a therapist. I must share this story. Yet another digression. However I will return to the point eventually. But this is worth mentioning. So. Yesterday. Unnamed Attorney One tells me that they are giving me a special bonus. And for a moment I was worried that this "special bonus" might involve some "white pee on the front butt" sort of action.

Huh.

For those of you who did not specifically follow this reference. Have no fear. There is nothing overtly kinky happening in my office. I was merely looking for an excuse to insert that phrase in this post. For those of you who do specifically follow this reference. The other thing I should say is gu-gunk. Gu-gunk. Because after all. I carried a watermelon.

Sorry. Enough. Moving on. At any rate. This bonus I received was for coming in to work for the past six weeks while I have been on my death bed with sickness. And if you did not know that I have been on my death bed with sickness then where the fuck have you been. You should do a better job of keeping in touch with me. Geesh. Anyway. My office. They just wanted to let me know how much they appreciated my dedication.

Wow. Nice huh. I almost did not accept said bonus. But given the fact that I am already grossly underpaid. It seemed as if I should probably just keep my big mouth shut. For a change.

But the point of my story. For this is not the point. The point of my story. So. I am in the office. And I am speaking with several of the unnamed attorney persons. And I am looking for something in the pocket of my jacket. So I begin to pull things out of said pocket trying to find what I am looking for. And I feel something sort of fabric-esque. I do not really think much of this as I often carry some sort of scarf or bandana with me. So I pull said fabric-esque item out of my pocket and toss it on the counter in front of everyone.

Only. It was not a scarf. Nor was it a bandana.

It was a pair of my underpants.

So now I am standing in a room with two men and my underpants are on the counter. Now I should say. My underpants. The underpants on the counter. They are clean. I have not worn them. But they are now on the counter. In the office. Just sitting there. Mocking me.

And they both look at me for a moment.

I am not entirely sure if I am supposed to pick up my underpants and shove them back in my pocket quickly. Or attempt to be a bit more casual about it. Perhaps they didn't notice. Maybe they don't even know that the lump of fabric on the counter is my underpants.

Ugh. They know.

I am now getting a look. And I cannot exactly describe the look. However I do notice a glimmer. Some sort of twinkle that represents the overwhelming need to laugh. The funny thing about this whole situation is I know they will never believe the real story of why I have a pair of underpants in the pocket of my jacket.

Correction. I had a pair of underpants in the pocket of my jacket. And why is it a pair of underpants. Does anyone know the answer to this question. Please let me know. Those of you who study origins of underpants. Why a pair.

Anyway. I know they will never believe me. They will think. That I actually. Have something remotely resembling a life. But I really don't. Not uh. Really. No. I do not. Sad to admit. No life here people.

No one will believe why a womyn is carrying underpants in the pocket of her jacket anymore than anyone would ever believe the real story of how someone ended up with a black eye. It is just one of those things not even worth explaining.

Except here. So. For those of you who do not know why I had a pair of my underpants in the pocket of my jacket I will tell you. And you will believe me. The answer is simple. It could not be more simple. Innocent really. I assure you. The answer.

Dirty Dancing.

Doesn't that explain everything. It does. Right. Good. I am so glad that is over. Because I was beginning to feel a bit self-conscious for a moment. That leaves only this left to say.

Damn you Curator of the Hidden Mangrove. Nice nickname huh. I just made it up at this very moment. But as you are the OG of said hidden grove of men. I thought it seemed. Fitting. So Damn you. For this is all your fault.

In case you were wondering. I did eventually put my underpants back in the pocket of my jacket. And yes. They were black. If you want any more information about my underpants than what I have already provided. You are going to have to buy me dinner first. Or at least a drink. Perhaps a cup of coffee. How about a muffin. At the very least a pack of gum.