After returning from work yesterday, Sophia called me into the bedroom, pointed at the underwear she was wearing and somewhat neutrally requested: “Richard, take a look at these panties.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Nor did I need much time to spot the obvious: a prominent, ideally-situated slit in the apparel. Judging by Little Richard’s immediate reaction, I guessed my childhood exposure to a similar item had not in fact scarred me for life as I’d feared. I snapped out of my reverie long enough to tell Sophia: “Wow Honey! Now that’s what I call spicing up our love life. Hold on a minute while I find my special pills and turn on the stereo. Then I can take an even closer ‘look’ at your undies.” I emphasized the last line with my best lurid wink.
Before I moved an inch Sophia responded, no longer sounding the least bit neutral. To the contrary, she fairly yelled at me: “What the? Richard, these are not split crotch panties!!! At least they weren’t before this morning, when your dog apparently redesigned them for me! These are ‘Demaris’ panties for God’s sake; $240 Demaris panties! How could you have let Prometheus ruin them?”
I (or, more precisely, myself and the two internal personas I sometimes converse with) considered three very different potential responses to Sophia’s harangue.
Never one to accept unjust blame, I felt inclined to protest: Why is it my fault the dog ate your panties? You’re the one who left them within his reach.
Adopting a somewhat different tack, Rational Richard (the personality who represents my logical side) proposed: You paid $240 for underwear?!!
Not unexpectedly, my tallywhacker Little Richard (a man of action, not words) went in an entirely different direction. He didn’t want to say anything to Sophia, advising Rational Richard and me: Never mind the piddling issues of fault and cost; we can worry about those later; for now let’s grab the Levitra and get down to business!
Rational Richard and I both agreed: That Little Richard sometimes makes awful good sense.
Alas, before we could enact Little Richard’s plan, Sophia vented further displeasure: “Do you want to know how I discovered the dog’s mistreatment of my panties? This morning I put them on, in the locker room at the gym, in front of three other women! One of them even winked at me … the same way you just did!”
So much for Little Richard’s proposal. Instead — “You spent $240 on underwear?!!!”