So, I go to my hockey game last night, and am in the locker room getting ready.
Everyone showed up for the game (for a change) so the locker room is pretty crowded, with nine guys and gear.
The talk is mostly about the latest Soprano episode, and -- since I've never seen the show -- I have nothing to contribute.
I start getting ready.
My wife has washed all of my hockey gear earlier that day, and repacked my bag for me. She carefully puts the pants in one zippered compartment, the jersey in another, and two (yes two) IRONED T-shirts in a third.
(I asked her once: Why do you iron the T-shirts I'm going to play in? I mean, I just pull my jersey on over it, anyway. Her response: People SEE you in your T-Shirt. I don't want them thinking you don't have a wife.)
I pull my hockey pants out. They are black, and have some velcro on them. And, I see this strange item clinging to the velcro. I pull it off and see:
Black thong panties.
Apparently, my wife washed my hockey pants with the darks.
Around me, I hear the conversation stop. The locker room is strangely silent as all eyes are on me.
"Is that a jock strap, dude?" one asks me at last.
"Um... no... it's my wife's."
"Your wife's that brunette sitting out there?" (We don't have a lot of spectators show up for our games. It's just a house league.)
"Yeah. The one by the glass on the near bleachers. The one in the pink top."
"And she wears those?" one asks wistfully.
"Yeah."
"What's she wearing now then?" someone asks and everyone laughs.
"None of your business," I tell them, and we go back to getting ready.
And I'm thinking, whew, that could have been a lot worse!
