My life often runs in a series of odd themes that repeat a common but strange motif several times and then never happens again.
I have several theories for these strange patterns.
First Theory (obvious): I’m paying closer attention to an experience because it nabbed my attention in my recent past.
Second Theory: I live a life of very predictable patterns. I’ll have similarly odd experience because I’m so boringly predictable.
Third Theory: I’ve entertained the mystical and the religious but have come to no real reasonable answer mainly because I don’t have enough mystical or Devine pull to alter the course of my universe.
Last Theory (this is the best of the lot): I am something of a lightening rod for the strange. Weird things happen to me because there’s something about me that beckons weird.
All right, the following will highlight what I’m going on and on about.
Several weeks ago I wrote about the wonders of men’s underwear . I wrote it after reading (in Runners World Magazine of all places) about a guy who found an old pair of his underwear mysteriously lying on his neighbor’s lawn.
Believe me underwear isn’t a topic I need to dwell on, particularly underwear in places they don’t belong. In fact, I was definitely done writing anything about underwear–or so I thought…
Walking my two bad dogs a couple of days ago, (another Recurring Oddity? No dear readers, owners of bad dogs have to walk them every day) I spotted a dirty pink rag on the side of the road. As we got closer to it, I saw it was a disgusting pair of discarded ladies undies.
What is with undergarments lying where they shouldn’t?
My dogs had spied them as well and pulled on their leashes in great hopes of getting within grabbing distance. Relieved that I discovered what they were before either bad dog nabbed them, I hauled the dogs across the street.
“Who leaves dirty, old underwear on the side of the road!” I scolded the bad dogs, trying to perish the thought that they desperately wanted them.
Their answering looks clearly said, “Who cares! Let’s go back and eat them!”
Argh, these are really bad dogs.
The following day I took the bad dogs for their walk (Second Theory : Predictability). We took the same route but Last Theory played its part on this day. I crossed the street well before the Zone of the Dreaded Underwear and in my self-satisfaction, I gazed around at the birds and trees instead of keeping a lookout for the wretchedly filthy things. After noting some fall colors on the leaves, I looked down at bad dog number two and I nearly fainted dead away because she was trotting along with those God-awful underwear clenched in her jaws.
There were so many things wrong in my life at that moment!
Bad dog number two is the tenacious bat-catcher. She’s fierce and difficult to manage on a good day. She is vicious when she has something in her mouth that she shouldn’t–it’s a real battle to get her to relinquish her prize.
A huge problem with her having the underwear in her mouth was if I was going to get them away from her, I’d actually have to either pry her jaws open or yank them out of her mouth. That means I’d have to touch the underwear.
I feel like passing out right now just thinking of it.
There was yet another big problem: me walking a dog who was carrying filthy pink ladies underwear. Wouldn’t you think, “Wow, that is so wrong! That woman gives her dog her old underwear to chew on!”
I’m sure that was the thought of everyone who saw us that day.
I had to get the underwear away from her.
Even in the horror of realizing my dreaded task, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person throws underwear onto the street? Seriously! Do I actually live around a woman who just tosses her filthy, GIANT underwear out a window when she’s done with them? (An aside, being close to those things let me see that they were huge–parachute-sized underwear. I am keeping my eye on the ample-bottomed women of this neighborhood from now on.)
I realized I couldn’t walk around with a dog carrying enormous, dirty underwear in her mouth. They had to come out.
I tried a bait-and-switch with dog cookies. She would have none of it, not even when bad dog number one got two cookies.
I knew I’d have to use some part of my being to pry them away from the dog. My best option was my feet which were clad in flip-flops. Old flip-flops that could be thrown away when the deed was done. When bad dog number two lowered her head, I stepped on the underwear. She instantly pulled back but luckily, due to their size, I had enough under my foot to keep hold. She began shaking her head like mad–quite a sight for a Saturday afternoon: a woman in flip-flops standing on one half of an enormous pair of filthy pink underwear while her insane terrier shakes the other half.
We battled for about ten minutes but neither side could claim victory.
I realized the best I could do was get her home, leave her in the back yard until she got bored with them and go light them on fire when she gave them up. I needed a fire permit and a burn area larger than my yard given their size and toxicity but I’d worry about those details when I needed to.
Yes I got some very strange looks on our way home. It was a slow, torturous walk because she had to growl and shake them every ten feet which drew even more attention to an already eye-catching sight of a small terrier with a gigantic pair of pink underwear clenched in her jaws.
I swear this dog was placed in my life to find new ways to humiliate me and it will take her eradicating a colony of vampire bats in my house to make up for this particular public mortification!
She played in the yard with those things for hours. Every time I called her to come eat, she’d look at me then shake them madly or toss them in the air and caper around the yard. I decided to give up the battle entirely.
She came to the back door at dusk–quite friendly and hungry. I let her in and ran out with a stick to get rid of the dreaded things once and for all. There was no sign of them anywhere. Either she ate them or buried them. In a day or so I will know for sure.
And now I am definitely done writing about underwear.