I just never know what memories will dance through my head. This morning, knowing it was a snow day (yay!), I reached in the clean laundry basket (don’t judge – I’ve been sick!) and pulled out a tee shirt and slipped it on. It felt all bunched up and there was something stuck to my head.
Looking in the mirror – I was sporting a pair of purple panties on my head. And wiggling around inside my shirt, I was able to extricate a few more pairs of underwear.
Static electricity field day!
Which…..reminded me of the first underwear story. Years and years ago, when I was a trial attorney, I was walking down the long hall toward the courtroom – it must have been a motion day because there were about a dozen attorneys all heading the same direction. I glanced down and saw a funny tangle in the young attorney’s pant leg in front of me. I couldn’t take my eyes off this snarl of fabric and soon, a tip of white peaked from the bottom of his trousers.
Just as we entered the courtroom, his pants birthed a pair of silky white undies as he was passing the bailiff. The bailiff – one of the kind ones (see the next story for the other type) bent, picked up the undies and handed them to the attorney. I loved the puzzled look on his innocent face. He couldn’t fathom why the bailiff was handing him a pair of women’s undies as he entered the courtroom. The bailiff then whispered in his ear; the attorney stuck the offending pair of undies in his pocket. And I imagine he and his wife had a little chat about laundry duties that night.
Which….reminded me of another underwear story – involving attorneys, courtrooms and bailiffs. When my law partner, Gloria, was a prosecutor, she was in the ladies room revving herself up for a jury trial. Most of us attorneys have to gear up – put on our macho – so we can strut our stuff in a self-confident, aim to win manner.
She leaves the ladies room and begins her walk down the long hall referenced above and parades past the testosterone pit (as the women attorneys referred to the area where the bailiffs stood guard on the comings and goings into the courtroom area). She then hears all of the bailiffs – about six of them, whispering, whistling, chuckling, and about three of them started following her down the hall sing-songing her name, “G-l-o-r-i-a.”
She feels smug – confident – thinks “I’m so fine, they want me.” And continues on into the packed courtroom.
Fortunately, the bailiff at the door was a woman who walked up close behind Gloria, stopped her and said, “Hun, your skirt is tucked in your pantyhose and your butt is showing.”
Lesson one – you should never get too full of yourself because you never know when your butt is showing.
Lesson two – boy oh boy, did she give the male bailiffs the what for that day and for years after. She is now a judge, so her robe would cover all wardrobe malfunctions, hopefully.
By this time, and it was still early in my day – I was cracking myself up! I love to remember funny slices of life. And I hadn’t even made it downstairs yet!
While still finding myself utterly humorous, I remembered my third underwear story.
I was flying first class in my favorite seat – first row, aisle, right side of the plane. Easy access to the toilet. A woman from behind me had just gone into the toilet, about the same time I was thinking of going. I noticed that the “occupied” light did not come on, so I was watching the door, waiting for her to go back to her seat.
Then I see the door to the flight deck open and out walks the pilot – a tall, gangly man, with large polished military type shoes. (Clue: this will be an important fact ). He has his head turned to chat with the flight attendant in the galley as he reaches for the toilet door, opens it and steps inside.
Realizing he stepped into an occupied bathroom, he promptly steps back out only to discover that his big clodhoppers were entangled in the woman’s dropped drawers and as he steps back, trying to extricate himself, he pulls her, bare butt and all, into the aisle. She falls into him and he promptly dances her right back, bare butt first, into the toilet. There is some tussle as he gets his shoe out of her drawers. He seems to apologize, closes the toilet door and goes promptly back into the flight deck – never to be seen again.
He sure had to hold it for a long time. And I bet she has a lifetime travel pass. Hahaha – when it was my turn, I locked the door.
And with spontaneous eruptions of laughs and chuckles, I began my day.
I just crack myself up!
Ann is a modern day Erma Bombeck - enjoying the foibles of her own life and that of living with 7 dogs and 2 hens.