Haute Flash Contessa

Rants, ramblings, raves of a woman who blames everything from road rage to undercooked pork chops on a hormone imbalance.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Ultimate Reality: The Big Guy's Underwear

“Contessa, I need your help,” The Big Guy hollered from the den. Oh great, he wants me to turn the channels on the television set. Again. I can’t believe Cat traded her dad’s remote control for an iTunes gift card. She should’ve held out for an iPod touch.

“Actually, I want your opinion.”

Since I hear those words less often than “you look like you’ve lost weight,” I made a beeline straight to the den. That’s where I caught sight of a first: The Big Guy sorting laundry. Well, not really sorting. Maybe sifting. Okay, inspecting.

“Rag or no rag,” The Big Guy asked, flashing a pair of ratty, holey Fruit of The Looms in the air and grinning as if he was holding a suitcase full of money. “Should I toss it in the rag pile or not?”

rest of the story here


At 8:31 PM, Blogger Smart Mouth Broad said...

What is it with men and their strange attachment to their old underwear!

At 10:30 AM, Anonymous Midlife Slices said...

I'm impressed. HBL wears his until they look like rags hanging off the elastic waistband and when I try to throw them away, he digs them out of the trash. Now I have to hide them inside an old take out tray or something that I don't think he'll inspect before he ties up the top of the trash bag. Ugh...men and their underwear!!


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