Persephone insisted I tell this story on my blog. But it’s a story in two parts.
My grandmother lived to a million and stood about two-foot-three. Once when she lived in Pittsburgh, my sister and her husband, who lived in Washington, drove up to see her. (My sister and her husband don’t have blog names yet, so let’s give them some. Let’s say my sister’s name is, oh, If You Don’t Like It You Can Take It Back (IYDLIYCTIB, or YCTIB for short), and her husband’s name is Cabin Boy.) So YCTIB and Cabin Boy went to the grocery store with my grandmother. YCTIB was somewhere else in the store when Cabin Boy came to find her to show her something. In preparing to go to the store, my grandmother had changed her pants. Cabin Boy was following her as she pushed the cart when something worked its way down her pant leg. Grandma gave her leg a shake and moved on, leaving a pair of her underwear lying on the grocery store floor. Evidently she had executed the “all off at once” move the last time she’d worn those pants, then put the pants on with the underwear still inside. Walking around had dislodged them and Grandma just shook it off and let it go.
A girl with whom we grew up in our ward got married, had a kid, and invited us and our kid over to her house Saturday morning before Easter for an egg hunt. Apparently I had the night before executed the “all off at once” move (no doubt to facilitate getting it on), and the morning of the egg hunt I found my pants right where I like them--the floor--and put them back on. When we got to the woman’s house and were walking up the steps, I had a lump fall down my pant leg. I said, “What in the world?” Then I saw what it was and knew my wife would never stop making fun of me for it. I balled my underwear up and was about to return to the car to stow them away when the woman opened her door to welcome us. I had my underwear in my hand, so I felt like I owed her a bit of an explanation. She just said, “Oh, um, okay.” Because, really, what else is there to say?