My wife, Janice, beautiful and talented as she may be, likes to hang her undergarments on the clothesline, in full view of the prim and proper, wine swirling, Khaki and Docksider wearing neighbors.
“I try and bring them in before they get home,” she always says, but, invariably, two seconds after they are clipped to the clothesline, a parade of cars pulls up in the other driveway.
How can I get her to stop? How can anyone so concerned about appearance in every other aspect of her life, leave bras and other unmentionables on display, blowing in the breeze like that?
On the neighbors’ line, you will routinely see tablecloths, towels and the occasional bed sheet, but intimate apparel is nowhere in sight. I guarantee you that if I ever tried to hang my “Jeff Gordon #24″ tank top out there, it would be down and burned in the time it takes his pit crew to make a stupid wedge adjustment, whatever that is.
I’ve actually had dreams of Martha Stewart knocking on our door just wagging her finger and making this tsk tsk sound with her tongue. Yet, Michele continues to
let it all hang out. Reds, blacks, browns, blues, all wonderful colors if you’re looking at a painting by Renoir, but for clothing that is meant to be seen by…no one, it’s… in a word, disturbing.
No, our days in the neighborhood are limited, I fear. Of course, the cold weather is coming so possibly we’ll get a reprieve until spring. However, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to everyone who has witnessed this obvious breach of socially acceptable behavior and, I’m honestly trying my best to make her see the error of her ways. My wife has issues and someday I will get to the bottom if it all. I just need a little more time and maybe a few more clothespins.
»
