It's your son. You know I love and I know you love me. Yes, I am posting the photograph Nikki sent me when she was playing hair salon with your head, but it's the same picture that Cynde sent me an hour later. Because they loved it, I imagine you loved it, too. I've been saving it on my desktop, but didn't know why.
I now know why, because I did my laundry last night. I've spent the last hour looking for an appropriate photo from Google to use for today's post, but decided it's better to use this one as a demonstration of your growing hair.
It looks good...you hair. You and I have the same exact hair. All these years you've spent curling it, whereas I could care less about my own (see over a decade of selfies). This hair photo of yours is much better than the Grannie Panty pictures I found online last night in order to post for today (people are nasty). I figured you'd be upset if I did post panties, and I didn't walk back upstairs with my cellphone to document the one's I found yesterday evening.
Then I remembered Nikki's photo.
See, I want to thank you for all the years of doing our laundry. I can't imagine what that must be like, especially when dealing with the sock department. How you didn't kill us is beyond me! And I'm thankful that you continue to hold onto the stray sock or abandoned t-shirt that somehow doesn't make it back to my car when I depart from home visits. You've really been a wonderful mom: patient, caring, devoted, loving, and considerate. I appreciate you for all of that.
This is why I wish to return the favor to you today. Apples don't fall far from trees.
Tonight, after snow-blowing for three hours (Son of a Butch, I tell you. Son of a Butch). I decided to change the laundry and fold several baskets that have been piling in my room since Christmas. I picked up a hoodie - I think it was my Crandall runs in my Veins hoodie, and had to flip it outside in. The sleeves were all tangled.
As I pushed my arm through one of the sleeves, a silky headband (which I thought might be a t-shirt sleeve I cut out to keep perspiration out of my eyes when I run) suddenly popped out.
Poof.
It was like underwater jelly fish, except darker.
It appears I have your underwear. They're not mine. I thought about wearing them on my head or having Glamis pose in them, but I figured you would be embarrassed (I mean, really Crandall, who shares maternal lingerie stories with the universe?) Like my skivvies, this pair has seen better days (Cynde! Casey! Christmas 2021. It'll be Sudy's Secret laughing all the way (ha ha ha). Victoria will be jealous).
Yes, mom. It appears I have your black undergarments. They popped out of a sweatshirt sleeve like the cannonball from the cannon. I'm pretty aggressive when I do laundry, I guess, especially when I poke an arm into an inverted sleeve. Ptfew! Almost took the dog's eye out.
The way I see it, we have a choice. I can mail your Underoos back to you, hoping the mail service won't know what they're mailing (imagine being embarrassed by a pair of packaged undergarments from your son - phew! you'd think I was writing a blog or something), or I can dispose them, preferably over the head, as punishment, of several high school kids I once taught.
Something tells me you'd rather see me dispose of them than to save them for a return to CNY. Just let me know, because I have them. I sure hope that you didn't bitch at Butch (or is that Butch at bitch) for messing up your laundry. I also hope you didn't blame Cynde for stealing them...she does like to paint rooms for her husband, after all.
I apologize, too, for not writing this in a letter, but I figured a blog post would be quicker. Here's to you in Clay. I love you more than you will ever know.
Bryan
PS: Thank you for my sense of humor. I got it from you.
PSS: Remember Casey's crotchless sweatpants she used to wear everyday?
PSSS: I think Nikki should do your hair more often. You look great.
PSSSS: I can send the panties back to you, if you want to recreate a holiday marching band. I imagine neighbors would love us coming in our skivvies as we play our Zube Tubes.
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