…and other petty nuisances.
Just thought I’d pop by and demonstrate my innate – and inane – ability to offend pretty much everyone.
Effortlessly and equally, because I’m all about equal opportunity. Or aboot for my fine amis Canadiens.
Anyhoo…or anyhooha in this instance, I’ve already seen one vagina today. From behind, no less.
I’m not bragging. Not by any means. But that is basically one whole vagina more than my daily average. I would barely have to round up to drop the qualifier on that…whatever opposite form of “brag” would work here.
My rolling 12 month cumulative total is two. Well, three – if you count Sharon’s moneyshot in Basic Instinct.
Which was far more palatable than my in real life misfortunes.
Somehow, these real life occurrences seem to happen while I’m driving. If this trend keeps going, I may consider quitting. Or running for public office and doing something about/aboot Portland’s homeless and mental health crises. I mean, surrealiously, if Matt Gaetz can get elected…
The first occurrence was last Fall and I was driving up SE 7th where it turns and becomes Sandy. I saw a woman waiting to cross the street. As I slowed to let her cross, I had an abortive thought about why women wear skin toned leggings.
Oh, Gawd…those aren’t leggings!
…and I decided to punch it instead of letting her cross.
Back to today, it wasn’t yet noon and I’d decided that I needed a caffeine hit. Because I’ve been exercising on the reg and pulled two driving shifts yesterday that were long enough that the app cut me off, I decided to be a lazy pants and drive.
I’m undecided on whether that was a blessing or not. Pretty sure it had to be a universal kindness for my old, gay eyes since if I’d walked, I’d have taken the same route and not had the ability to floor it when I registered what was happening.
Suffice to say, even a homeless person should have the <ahem> “wear with all” to decide to change anywhere but a parking space. I mean, she was one block over from the Park Blocks, where there were plenty of hundreds of years old trees to provide at least some privacy.
But, here she was, shielding her…modesty? Sure, we’ll call it modesty, by turning away from traffic while she changed. Bending at the waist, mind you, so I got the full “fur diaper” experience, as my beloathed Black Sheep Bro used to refer to his lovelier-than-he-deserved girlfriend’s preferred natural state.
For my gay ass – careening away from this visage at, frankly, rather unsafe speeds for a surface street – I couldn’t imagine how society’s misogynistically imposed feminine grooming norms would have improved this experience.
Now, to balance my offense…with a more personal touch, no less:
I realized this week – on successive days – that I have two pair of undies that have reached a level of wear that I like to call “blown out”. I’m honestly afraid to shower snd dress today, lest this become a three day streak. For the unfamiliar, I usually refer to a ripped crotch seam as a blow out.
And, let’s all take a moment to admit that – unless it’s happening to you – the sound of a crotch seam ripping is a rather soothing ASMR- type experience.
Because I’m me, and because my mind is an amusing sort of defective, I view these two instances differently:
My panda print briefs are ripping at the waistband. A particularly heinous betrayal – despite the reality that I bought these a couple pant sizes ago.
Hey, I’m working on it, ok?
The tear is in a place that makes it too easy to make the shituation worse, too. My damn finger finds that hole every time I wear them and I can feel it getting bigger.
For my mental health, I should probably throw them in the trash instead of the laundry, but: pandas!
On the other hand…
The Contorted Flattery
The other pair of undies that have blown out are a pair of…boxer briefs? I dunno. There’s no real inseam to speak of, as you’d find on an actual pair of boxers. But the style is definitely an homage to 70s era gym shorts. Well, except the backside is a tasteful mesh.
No, I’m not a pole dancer.
And I’ll have nothing to do with tasteful on this blog post, damnit!
The blow out on this pair is on the “pouch”. Ok, that was semi-tasteful. Apologies.
Once again, these undies are two pant sizes old, but I’m not letting that reality get in my way. Obviously, Big Ed and The Twins are simply too much for this pair of pants to contain.
Again, I should toss these. But since they are cute and no one sees them but me, you know I’ll wear them in a fit of “why I’m single” defiance until one of The Twins fully escapes.
You. Are. Welcome.
2 thoughts on “Betrayal!”
Oh dear… back in the Great Grapefruit Testicle year my mid thigh boxer briefs took a beating. Now I have several pairs where the high wear stress area has given way. Which happens to be at the under nutsack seam intersection. I wait until the remaining raisin is in danger of dropping and being strangled by an unfortunate choice of seating before I toss them. Yesterday I bid adieu to my faves, the almost fluorescent safety orange “silver alerts”. You know, if I wander out to direct traffic or go for a random gambol in my undies I’ll be instantly recognizable from the emergency runaway geezer description.
As for the surprise furburger, bless your heart. Straight guys who spend our lives tracking the elusive love taco are easily taken aback by a sneak attack exposure. One tries to choose the supposed quality of their sightings and be it a clam in a fright wig or a plucked chicken fortune cookie, dear Lord let us choose the appropriate moment for visage. We should all be glad it was you in the cosmic crosshairs (so to speak) and not an easily distracted 17 year old male with raging hormones and a 24/7 boner. The automobile and pedestrian carnage would have made national news.
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OMG. All of that. Seriously, of all the epic comments you’ve contributed, this…out*strips* them all. And if I wake up screaming tonight, it’ll be a tossup betwixt my Vag 2.0 sighting and the description of your construction crew underwear. 😂
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