Monday, March 14

Underpants

My girlfriend woke me on Sunday morning - this is unusual as she normally doesn't "do" mornings but my excuse was that I was ill with a severe cold and she was up before me. Serves me right.

"Look"

I rolled over half asleep and confused.

"Look!!" She repeated for empahsis "Look!!!!". She was twirling a pair of my underpants around her index finger. I'd been trying to persuade her to wear sexier knickers the night before but I didn't expect this. Was I supposed to be impressed? Turned on? Alarmed? I had other, less substantial items of female lingerie in mind when I suggested her getting rid of her "Blitz Madchen" underwear.

My brain started to kick in and I noticed the body language. Feet apart, hand on hip, scowl on her face and horns, steam and a sulphorous smell sprouting from her head (OK - the sulphorous smell might have been a side effect of the blocked sinuses but you get the picture). She's annoyed, I thought. Sweet Jesus! What has my little pocket Rottweiller got in mind now?

I cleared my throat to play for time. It didn't work. The underpants were whirling at too high a rate of knots for me to focus and my brain wasn't functioning.

"What am I looking at my little pocket Venus" I asked She's smaller than me and is indeed a pocket Venus. I do love her small size and fierceness. A cross between a Jack Russell on speed and a full blown Dragon, just packaged in a miniature 5 feet nothing frame.

She thrust the underpants into my face. "These" she hissed. "I'm sorting your clean washing. They're knackered".

I sighed. She's on a mission to waste money again I thought. "What's up with them, my little choux pastry" said I in a voice of dulcet and sweet reasonableness. Guess what? it didn't work.

"This" she said, demonstrating a small (and I mean a less than 3mm opening) in the seam underneath the crotch area. "They are beyond redemption. Get rid of them".

You can't reason with her when
a) you are naked in bed (a naked man has no moral authority when confonted by a fully dressed woman. Trust me on this one)
b) she's got your underpants with the implied threat of what normally occupies them will be ripped off
c) you are still partly asleep and
d) She's Sonia.

"Chuck them in the waste paper bin, then" I said. It was the path of least resistance and the wisest course of action under the circumstances.

A flick of her wrist and the underpants flew across the room, hit the wall and fell into the wastepaper basket. I was impressed - how the hell did she manage to do it without turning her head?? "We'll got M&S later and get some new ones" I said. "The factory outlet place at North Shields will open at 10AM. We can go then".

She narrowed her eyes, looking for the evasion. I tried to look as innocent as possible (which is always a mistake - with my face, people asume I'm as guilty as a weasel in a henhouse regardless) and coughed furiously to distract her.

Surprisingly, she seemed mollified. "OK then. I'm making tea. Do you want a cup?"

"Yes please" I said, between bouts of coughing. She turned and left me in peace.

I waited until I heard her filling the kettle in the kitchen.

Then I rolled out of bed, retrieved the underpants from the waste paper bin and put them into the underwear drawer. They are good for another 100,000 miles, those ones. Sheer extravagance.

The resistance continues.

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