|Look. Even my shoe looks confused.|
Before I go any further, I must say: they are not mine, they are not my son's and I am almost positive they do not belong to the bank manager next door, nor the sweet elderly couple on the other side of my house.
That said, er, why the hell were some guy's size medium underwear lying on the street on my block on my walk to work yesterday? (We know they were size medium because we poked them with a stick.)
And you know what else is weird? Isn't it curious how some everyday type objects suddenly gain this odd power when they are out of context? For example, boxers on the laundry room floor? Expected. Boxers poking out of a suitcase at the airport? No big whoop. Boxers used as wall art at house-parties in University? Typical. But huck your boxers on the road? It's just too random. It's, uber-random. They become like road kill. People are afraid to touch them. Vehicles detour around them. (Even the dogs in the neighbourhood must have avoided them because they were still there on the road when I returned from work at the end of the day.) And yup, people *coughs* even take pictures and blog about them.
These sorts of things ignite my imagination. It's like speculation overload. It's like some sort of hypothesize-a-thon. It's a writer-thing isn't it? It's like the opening for some great mishap-filled novel. Five potential novel openers:
- "Take them off HERE?"
- The first object to hit the ground was a pair of cotton boxers.
- "Honey? I think your underwear fell out of my purse."
- One might have assumed she drove into the tree in her front yard because her toddler son in the backseat had punched his now-whimpering older brother in the head yet again, but no, it was because she was distracted by the men's cotton boxers lying on the street in front of her house. She knew those boxers.
- My feet just took control. I pressed on the brake. Put my Jeep in park. Unzipped my pants. Struggled out of my jeans. Stripped off my boxers. Opened the window. Loaded the waistband like a sling-shot. And fired my underwear at her driveway.
Sadly, this is one novel I will likely never read. This mystery will probably remain a question mark.
And speaking of questions, did I mention that for the past few days here the temperature has rarely been above zero degrees Celsius? Not exactly a good time to shed one's gonch.