I had to take my 12 year old to get x-rays today on his knee. As we were waiting, I asked him if he had on clean underwear. He looked at me like I was a freak. Obviously he has never heard this before. I explained it is something moms or grandmas always tell you to do. “Make sure you have on clean underwear every day. You never know when you are going to end up at the doctor’s office.”
“You’re a mom! Why have you never told me that?” said my son raising a very good question.
“Do you have on clean underwear!?!?” I snapped.
“Then don’t worry about it.” I huffed and shifted my shoulders away from him.
You see, I knew exactly why I had never told him this. It also reminded me of one of the last times I was at the doctor with my husband. So here it goes, hiding under this pen name, revealing things I should never reveal, to quite a few people who actually know me and interact with me on a regular basis.
I don’t wear underwear. In fact, I hate underwear. I always have! Ever since I was a little girl, if I can get away with not wearing them, I will. I don’t like the feel. I don’t like twisted bunches of fabric. They get hot and sweaty. I have always had a disproportionate sized booty. Whether large or small- the panties always ended up in no man’s land anyway. Then, there’s the all-tacky= pant lines. Ugh! I know many could argue not wearing panties in general is tacky. Touche my friend, touche. Rest assured, if there is a chance of the sun shining where it never should- I do have on panties. So we will just squash that curiosity right there. Next time you see me at the ballpark in a sundress, there is no need to push me into the sandbox for giggles. I will have on panties.
There is, however, one particular time I did not have on panties. I truly, truly needed them that day.
I have been having serious back issues for the past several years. It is debilitating. I was at the first appointment with who was going to be my last shot at a cure. This being a serious matter that greatly affected me and my family, my husband was there. We were meeting with a different pain management doctor. I had been to plenty, they generally only want to dismiss you or get you hooked on narcotics. In my early 30’s, I refused for that to be the answer for me. This doctor, we will call Dr. V., was going to hopefully give me different answers. This guy was serious, intelligent, and EXTREMELY thorough. Extremely.
A sweet lady called us back from the waiting room. She showed us to an exam room, that didn’t quite look like any of the others. There was a stretcher in there, on wheels. When I asked about it, she only states that he is very thorough. (OK! I get it!) She goes through my meds, my complaints, why I am there, etc. She goes to leave and hands me a gown. A gown? I have back pain. I have on stretchy clothes. This shouldn’t be necessary. She assured me it was very necessary and to completely strip down to nothing but my panties. My husband’s face just lit up with excitement!
You see, he knows. He has known for years. We are married! We have kids! We have known each other for over 22 years. We were high school sweethearts. At this point in our lives, he knows I don’t wear underwear and he thinks this is just flipping hilarious.
I argue again with the nurse. She says when Dr. V. evaluates, he evaluates everything. I wasn’t sure what this meant, but I knew it made me nervous. She leaves the room before I could protest further.
So here I am in an exam room, told to strip down to my panties, and I have no panties. All I have is this asshole husband laughing so hard he’s crying. After attempting to kill him with my eyes, he straightens up and says, “I knew this was going to happen someday and I had just hoped I would be around for it.”
“Give me your underwear!”
“The hell I will!”
“Give me your underwear!”
“You are completely insane and I am not giving you my underwear.”
I tackle him. I’m going for the belt. I am getting this man’s underwear whether he likes it or not! He’s fighting with me. Sitting down, crossing his legs. I couldn’t believe it! Of all the things I have done for this man! I gave him children, dammit! I would give him my underwear if he needed it! Isn’t this what marriage is all about? Through sickness and health, times of undergarments and not. Why won’t he give me his underwear!? He is just going to literally leave me out to dry.
Aside of all the things I have done or would do for him, USUALLY this man would do absolutely anything for me, but not this. Apparently THIS is where he draws the line. Why? It’s not like anyone would be able to tell he wouldn’t have underwear on. I would give them right back!
I am whisper screaming all of these things as I am trying to wrestle his shorts off. Since he is over a foot and three inches taller than I am and weighs a hundred pounds more, I was getting nowhere. He accidentally kicked the door with his steel-toed work-boot, which prompted the nurse to snidely ask “Everything OK in there?”.
I responded with a deflated “Yes”.
I realize this man is not going to give up his underwear. I am making a mental note of the dissolution of marriage papers I am going to draft after I leave. “Not good in an underwear crisis situation. Irreconcilable underwear differences. And of course, just being a bad sharer!”
I am defeated and aggravated, yet I still refuse to believe there is not a solution. I start going through all of the cabinets in the room. As if there is an emergency stash of disposable underwear in there. I am out of my mind dealing with the impending embarrassment and doom. There was of course, nothing that could help me anywhere. Only my smug ass husband sitting there wearing not only shorts, but a perfectly good pair of underwear that he was keeping all to himself.
I will just end this by saying a few things. My husband kept his underwear. I kept on my gym shorts and prayed no one said anything. I now know the one thing I cannot count on my husband providing for me and I always, always keep a spare pair of underwear somewhere.