Apparently I didn’t.
Years ago before I was married I lived in my own apartment and I generally kept it quite clean, which really wasn’t that difficult since it was so small. What I did do though, was when in a rush I would just toss my jeans on the chest at the end of the bed. This would be a pair of jeans that I had worn once or twice, still basically clean and I knew I would be wearing them the next day.
One morning I had to go for a CAT scan at the hospital, and being in a rush I just threw on the jeans I had worn the day before. My boyfriend (now husband) picked me up and drove me to the hospital, and since we were running late, he dropped me off in front. All of a sudden whilst running across the front lawn, I felt something odd in my pant leg. Still running, I shook my leg and felt something fall out. I turned my head to look what was on the ground – it was my underpants that I had worn the day before. They had been stuck in the pant leg. Now laying there on the bright green grass was a white pair of panties for all to see. What to do, do I turn around and pick them up? I looked around to see if anyone was looking, then I looked at the panties, then I did the only thing I could think of, I resumed running only faster, leaving the white panties on the green grass.
Moral of the story, always check the pant legs of your jeans before wearing them outside.
What would you have done, pick the panties up or leave them on the grass for all to see?
Every Saturday morning I start laundry, and every Saturday I curse and swear not because I dislike doing laundry but because I hate underwear! Years ago, it used to be fine, I would sort the clothes, whites, colours, dark’s, and kids. This was an easy task when the they were young , the teenage boy had tiny boy’s underwear, usually the kind where the flap was an imaginary flap. The girl’s underwear was easy too, one would have solid coloured underwear, and the other stripes/stars, any kind of pattern. Then they grew up.
After sorting, and washing, came folding, (well I don’t actually fold the underwear), I would just toss it in the right pile of clothes. Eventually with the girl’s underwear, after getting yelled at for mixing up their underwear because they now had similar ones, I gave up. I would make one pile for the girls and tell them to sort it out.
When the boy grew up, his underwear also became a problem, gone was the imaginary flap. The teenage boy and dad now had similar underwear, with the exception of size and I thought I could handle it, apparently not though. After my husband had tried to fit his package in a pair of the teenage boy’s underwear in the early morning hours, when it was still dark out, and they didn’t fit, he was not impressed because the next pair didn’t fit either. Then the teenage boy yelled at me because he had dad’s underwear which were too large. Finally, I acquiesced, their underwear is one big pile and they can now sort it out too.
Which is why I hate underwear! Socks are a whole other issue.