The Great Underwear Mystery

It was a blustery day, the sort which compells every part of a man's body to yearn south, quite in contrast to the normal flow of nature under such conditions. No one knew this fact more than Taconite Boy, whose manly parts were in grave danger of permanant recess had it not been for warm thoughts of a new Kelly Clarkson Christmas album being released.

(open confessional: I'm currently diverting my blogging mental resources toward penning a Triathlon Mystery Novel. I assure you, it will be the trashy type of novel that is perfect to read on the bus to the transiton area, or perhaps the ideal antidote to sleeplessness the night prior to an "A" race- so indulge me here as I further hone my writing skills while updating you with the current happenings of the Trimama household.)

"Damn this cold! mumbled Tac Boy, adjusting the red silk, happy heart, boxers he'd been forced to wear under his painter's whites. While any gift from his lovely, gracious wife warmed his heart, these silkies just weren't up to the task of warmth or support. Not to mention what the guys at the work site would think if they found out. Of course this latest rendition of hell freezing over was certainly due in part to USC's stumble off the championship horizon, that or the mid term elections.

(That part about the mid term elections is for the benefit of my liberal friends who should enjoy the angst of their conservative counterparts, as the neo cons have been allowed for the previous decade. Enjoy the bone. I'm not particularly impressed with politics as a solution to the dire situations of mankind as a whole, but it does make for interesting holiday conversation)

Either way, the frost was here to stay and he needed to find his stash of briefs, now.

But therein lay one of the greatest vexations known to man, second only to an admonition from his mother that she didn't want him joining the likes of Brittney Spears in public humiliation.

(ok, that was a somewhat appalling visual from the mom in law on the phone this morning-but I digress)

For eight days Tac Boy had been forced into the morning ritual of scouring the house for a set of briefs, only to be frustrated in his search. Trimama assured him that she had maintained her relentless assault on the mountains of laundry, but to no avail. For a man whose underwear collection could rival Imelda's shoes, it was indeed an enigma left to be unraveled. It is one thing to lose a wayward sock, but an entire assembly of undergarmets? It would take a mastodonic like black hole to completely erase the existence of his wardrobe.

A black hole the size of a young boys room. A black hole the size of say, a BNB/Urp room.

Mystery solved. In the farthest regions of under the bed, along with several piles of, recently washed/dried/folded and stacked for being placed into drawers so that you have something to put on when mom insists that you can't wear the same pair of pants six days in a row you actually have something to put on, piles, were Tac Boy's underwear.

Go figure.

Now, you might be tempted to ask Tac Boy exactly what he has been wearing for the prior 8 days, as I was this morning while he ranted while turning the house over, but I don't know if we want the answer to that question. You might be temped to ask if Trimama actually allows Urp to wear the same pair of pants six days in a row before erupting in frustration and insisting that he change. In a word, No. At most he gets two days out of one pair, but Urp always manages to come down the stairs in the same pair of pants. He insists that he has two pair that are identical, but I am the goddess of the laundry, however impotent in getting them to put the clothes away correctly, I do have a pretty accurate inventory of what they have.

You might be tempted to ask how Hyphen Girls basketball team is doing and did they indeed win their game last night.

Yes!!!!

You might be tempted to ask if Trimama and Tac boy are signed up for Wildflower and whether the idea of training for all of those biking hills has Trimama in a state almost equal to the state she is in because her shoulder won't heal from the beating it took in the waves of the gulf over a month ago, and the answer would be yes. Trimama is in a state of intimidation and uncertainty that is beguiling and only remedied by the thought that Kahuna is bringing his guitar and John Denver songs for the camp fire and that Fe Lady signed up!!! Not to take anything away from any of the other great people in the blogosphere who I can't wait to see again or meet for the first time, but this is John Denver. Of course, Fe Lady (pronounced iron lady for all of you non chemistry types) is one of the people I really want to meet in person.

You might be tempted to ask if this post is ever going to end.

Indeed it is.

Have a good one