Tightie Whities

I will start this out by telling you my husband gave me permission to write this blog. I cannot change the names to protect the innocent as I have only ever had one husband, and he's a gem. Just the fact that he lets me tell this story is proof. The topic is underwear. His underwear. I should also mention it happened in the early nineties. Really early. Before the invention of boxer briefs. The time of really big hair and really little underwear. Not good. For anyone. Seriously. I blame Toys R Us. Jim blames me. So here we go. It started out innocently enough. I was going Christmas shopping with my friend, her mother and her brother. We all had kids to shop for so we decided to go to Toys R Us. I had a mini van so I picked everybody up. Jim stayed home with Allison (she was a little baby awww.) Now as I recall he was fully dressed when I left. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I do recall telling him I would be home by 11:00. I'm thinking the store closes at 10, by the time I drop off..11 tops. Shopping was going well. We were having fun, crossing off things on our lists. This is where things take a bad turn. The store doesn't close until midnight. Oh, and besides big hair and small underwear, cell phones were rare (and really big.) I did not have a phone. I didn't call Jim. I shopped until I dropped. Jim was at home waiting for me. And worrying. Although apparantly he worries at a comfort level all his own. Apparantly he worries in his underwear. He was upset, but comfortable. I am of course oblivious. Hellooo... shopping. Enough said. So we come out of the store and my heart stopped. It was snowing. If you know anything about me, you know I was freaking out. My friends had a great idea. Someone else would drive my van while I breathed heavily into a paper bag. They would take me home first, and I could get my car the next day. Or never, if the snow didn't stop. I wasn't concerned. So we head home. All is good. Except for Jim. Worried. And comfortable. We pulled up. Our parking space was right in front of our front door. Great for unloading groceries, not so good for Jim. Just as the car pulled up, the front door flew open. The headlights glaring straight ahead and all we see is Jim. Mad face, hands on his hips, and his tightie whities glowing. The driver turns off the headlights. But thank goodness the porch light is on! I come out of my shock induced state and start yelling "turn off the light, turn off the light, shut the door, you're in your underwear!" He can't hear me. He also can't see anyone else in the car. He thinks I'm alone. Hands on his hips. I'm still yelling. "Jim, we can see you, we can see you." Nothing. Until the driver opened the door and the interior light came on in the car. His eyebrows sort of lifted a little and his mouth gaped open. And than he slammed the door. Thank You God. The longest moment of my life is now over. Of course I still had to go in the house. I blamed Toys R Us. Yeah, he wasn't buying it. He was buying boxers, and for that we are all grateful.