Magical Panties

I shared this on Facebook and people seemed to enjoy it, so I’m sharing it here too!

I was spending the day at Disney with my boo when I noticed a small string, about a half-inch long, sticking out above the waist of my pants. I decided to pull on the string to get rid of it.

I was a string pulling machine!

and I pulled…and I pulled and proceeded to pull about 4 yards of string out of my pants.

Could have knitted the world a sweater!

I felt a breeze of unwanted freedom below and snapped the string with a key to stop the madness. I had a ball of fuzzy string pilled forever high in my hand and scurried to find somewhere to throw it away.

Watch out I’m trying to get rid of this shit!

I became afraid to use the public restroom because I feared my underwear were either gone entirely, or just laying down there like a fig leaf. I didn’t want to shift any tables in the jean-time-continuum ’cause I just can’t walk around naked in jean shorts. 100% cotton, maybe- but I’m definitely not doing any high kicks in either of those scenarios.

Eventually I did have to crack the pee levee because I drink a shit-ton of water. I stowed myself away into a back corner restroom stall where the light was flickering. Apparently that string was a major component of my underwear’s elastic band because without it, my underwear just kept getting bigger and bigger like they were magical. **ExpectoGrow’Em!** I tucked and folded them bad boys up like I was crafting origami cranes down there and went back out to hit the rides.

Pantygami

By the end of the night I could have sailed a ship with these bloomers, or at least have worn them as a shall or a hipster infinity scarf. At one point I seriously had that shiz tucked up under the bottom of my bra.

If I can figure out how to harness the power of the string I will market rip-cord panties to the world for the holiday season. “Pull this string! BOOM! Comfort.” Well, until they fall out of your pant leg.

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Home Alone

I grew up a delicate flower in a boys world. Meaning, I only had brothers and if I was a flower, at the time it probably would have been some kind of flowering stank weed until about the age of 20. Today I was thinking about all the fun we had growing up together when I remembered this story:

ME SO SCARY!

My brothers and I would always sneak watch Unsolved Mysteries. If you hadn’t heard of this show, thank your lucky stars because that shiz would make drops of my urine pop out from fear quite regularly. So scary! Even the theme music was spooky. It had been unofficially banned from our house at night because we would stay up late watching it and then freak out all night about being kidnapped or abducted by aliens. But as they say: “When the mom and dad cats were away, the mice shall play!” SO when our parents went out of town overnight on a business trip for my Dad’s company, we were knee-deep in a marathon of “The Mysteries That Shall Not be Named”… or watched, or solved for that matter, before our folks ever got out of the subdivision. It was a lovely late spring evening and the windows in the tv room were wide open, welcoming the breeze of the season. A half hour into the marathon we were jumpy. One hour in we were down right terrified. When we heard that “the killer <was> still on the loose” in the state we lived in, we quickly shut all of the windows, locked the door and turned on every single light in the house. I think there was even discussion of recreating the scene from Home Alone where young Kevin had cardboard cutouts roaming the house on toy trains to make it seem like a party was happening as to escape certain doom. But then I think we got overwhelmed with the amount of work it would take… and our lack of working toy trains… and our inventory of zero cardboard cutouts… that we just decided Ace would make hamburgers on his George Foreman grill instead.

Ouch.

While Ace grilled us up some of his signature crumbly-to0-thick-and-kinda-raw-yet-somehow-burnt-burgers that we didn’t even have buns for, we made a pact to stay up all night and keep watch for axe murderers until our parental units arrived home in the morning. Ace actually came up with the plan mid-yawn. And by 2am, that bish had snuck up to his room after claiming he was “going to be right back, I have to go to the bathroom.” To keep ourselves awake, the remaining siblings; Rhino, Logan and I decided to mess with Ace. So Rhino and I snuck upstairs to Ace’s room, while Logan hid in the closet at the front door. Rhino and I took a deep breath to stop laughing, and then ran around upstairs screaming out “AHHHH! THE FOREMAN GRILL!!! AHHH!!! THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE! IT’S ON FIRE! HELP HELP!” as we banged on pots with wooden spoons. (I’m not sure why the pots and spoons were how we thought fires worked, but Ace didn’t ask any questions.)

GOO!

Ace shot out of bed in his tighty whities and darted down the steps and into the front yard. It was as if he had been pulled out of the house on a string. There was no rubbing of the eyes or sleepy stumbling, just haul-ass darting out of the house nearly naked. (Besides the panties and ever-fashionable tube socks, that is.)

At first we were entertained, but then we were like – “Hey, he didn’t even look for any of us!” Ace didn’t even look back. He didn’t yell inquiries. There was no “Here! Take my hand! Follow me!” or “I’ll fashion a ladder out of these sheets and we will all climb down to sweet freedom! Together!” Nothing. Not even, “If this shit is on fire, where’s all the smoke?” Just half naked Ace running so fast out of the house he left the front door open and a tube sock at the base of the front steps. Like some kind of stinky Cinderella. Logan popped out of the closet and closed the door. Then we turned on all the outside flood lights and watched Ace walk around the yard for ten minutes scratching his head and climbing over bushes. It might have been one of those “it’s funny because I’m sleep-deprived” moments, but to this day I STILL crack up at the thought of Ace running around the front yard half naked under a floodlight, throwing rocks at the house (he must have not known how fires worked either) while we giggled and watched him through the peep hole.

TAKE THAT, FIRE!

Eventually Ace came to the front door because he heard us laughing so loudly. He wasn’t even mad. He just was all “Well dang, all I could think was Mom and Dad are going to be pissed if I burned this mother down with the George Foreman Grill!” Again, nothing about his burnt siblings. Bahaha I love you Ace! Brothers are the best!