I Do Indeed Own Them........

Yes, Mom. They're mine. 

So yesterday I was flouncing around in my new health club after the aqua arthritis class. I was showering and changing and enjoying the amenities of the new place: larger, brighter showers with actually warm water, the absence of signs warning patrons not to drink the toilet water, a hair dryer at the vanity, etc.

I finished my shower, and began putting on my clothing in my spacious private changing area, when I noticed that I was missing one vital item.

Yes. My underwear.

I thought about just pulling on my jeans without them. Who would know? They're firm tummy control undies, but still. You think anyone would look at me in my jeans and say, Girl. You forgot your tone 'n trim underwear today... Tsk tsk tsk? Well, I'm certain that some would think it, but I wouldn't expect to be taken to task about my lack of foundation wear.

I had one foot in my pant leg when I heard, "Who's underwear?"

Oh, man. I sighed and wrapped myself up in my towel, headed back to the locker room, and shamefacedly retrieved my pink panties which were delicately being held up by a good samaritan.

Oops. Must have dropped them on the way to the shower. Thanks.

I knew better than to deny ownership of said panties. Because I had tried this maneuver once before and my mother-in-law will never, ever, in a million years, let me forget it. Actually, looking back from the perspective of thirty some years ago, it was a mildly humorous incident.

::indignant sniff::

John and I had only been married for a year or so, and on one of our frequent visits to his parents' house, as I was packing up our stuff to leave, I must have left a pair of my underwear behind. (No pun intended.) We said our good-byes and went our merry way.

The next time that we visited, I was aghast to see my undies placed prominently on their foyer bookshelf, which is where my mother-in-law places all of those things that her zillions of grandkids, and kids, and daughter-in-laws may have left behind.

Oh, brother. My undies were stacked right in there alongside a mismatched sock, a pair of tennis shoes, and a book or two.

I pretended that I didn't see them. Wouldn't you??

I should have snagged them when nobody was looking. But no.

So as everyone was leaving after the weekend was over, Mom took her place by the front door and hugged everyone good-bye. There were lots of us. John comes from a huge family.

As each person got their hug and headed outside, Mom would point to the lost and found bookshelf and ask, "Are any of these things yours?" and each and every one of us would deny ownership. She picked up my panties and held them up high. "WHO'S UNDERWEAR?!?"

Not mine. Nuh-uh. Never seen 'em in my life. Gotta run! Buh bye!

How embarrassing. Those underwear sat on that bookshelf for at least six months. And each time we'd return she'd wave my panties as we left and challenge any of us to claim them.

Mom decided to finally throw them away as she and Dad hauled in the Christmas tree. They weren't festive enough, she said.

So the left-behind underwear incident became a story that became a family favorite.

"Har har har! Remember when Mom spent six months waving around someone's underwear? Snicker. Snort."

Oh, yeah. A real barrel full of laughs, guys.

After John and I had been married for twenty five years, I figured the statute of limitations on really embarrassing experiences had expired, so one morning over breakfast, I confessed that the famed underwear were mine.

She calmly sipped her coffee. "I know. I knew all along. I picked them up from your and John's bedroom."

We both laughed until we cried. I should have known that I could never have pulled the wool over the eyes of a woman that had raised ten children.

But I learned my lesson. Ever since, I always claim my underwear. Especially at my mother-in-law's house.