Saturday, 30 May 2009

  • My dad refuses to wear pants...

    The cloud of rude that surrounds my household is large and fluffy indeed. It was only a few hours ago that I witnessed a sight that I have witnessed for 18 years...my father, exposed in all his fruit of the loom glory.


    Ever since I can remember, my Dad has walked around in his underwear...there are pictures of me sitting in my pajamas and my father drowning in his blinding white XLs. Disturbed? Feel free.

    It has recently come to my attention that this is not normal. I was talking to some friends around a lunch table a while back, and some rambling required a description of my household...I didn't fail to describe the man who wishes to be called "Papa" in his underwear, ass to the couch. One of my friends recoiled in horror, another turned red and giggled and I, clueless needed to know..."What's all the hubub, Puff?" (Spongebob) I know it sounds weird that someone has to tell you that it's strange, but once it was brought to my attention, I rapidly became uncomfortable and uneasy.

    A few months ago, I started to discourage this behavior, especially when I noticed my brother (10 on Monday) repeating the same offense...offensive! When I confronted my father about this, he took it in good stride... sort of. In one ear, out the other... to prove my point that it was wrong, and how uncomfortable I suddenly began to feel...you know, seeing my overweight 53 year old father near nude, (this may sound sick to some of you, but I didn't get "most dramatic" in high school for nothing) whenever I saw my father without pants on, I simply just unbuttoned my own pants and let them drop to the floor. "There, how does that make YOU feel?" I asked him, a smug smile plastered on my face. His response? VOMIT! ... and then padding away in his knee high socks and underwear with a blue stripe across the waistband. Damn him...

    So... his most recent offense? I was going upstairs tonight *because we live in a tri-level and I'm on the tri of the levels - aka The Tundra because it's so dang cold!* and when I went to the twin level (2 - living room), I saw my father, laying on the couch, in his underwear with a blanket draped over his...his...almost like an aged cherub, so I asked him, "Are you posing for a picture?" ...he rolled his eyes.

    I find my situation comical and frustrating all in the same...well...I guess I'd better go. End rant I suppose - the racoons are in the garbage again, I hear them - those seed barrel gluttons. Time to pull them out...

    Point of the matter - gentlemen...when you're married with teenage daughters, button, zip and tie the strings. Hmmm...I wonder what mancouch would say to that?

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