Wednesday, November 10, 2010


This is a story about my underwear.  A newish pair of black boy cut thingies with lace on the edges.  The lace is what I like; they make ‘em sort of fancy.  And since I got tubby I am not a fancy underwear gal, so they feel really special to me.  This is also a story about my crazy.  Something bad happened when I wore the underwear earlier this summer shortly after I got them.  I don’t even remember what the bad thing was, but it was enough to make me pause every time I was just about to grab them on the way to my morning shower.  And not pick them up.  But I really do like them, and I’ve regretted that they have become a bearer of bad tidings to me.  I like them enough that I used precious suitcase space to pack them for my trip down here.  And this morning I screwed up my courage and wore them. 

All day I was waiting for something terrible to happen.  In my head when something bad happens I attach it to an object and that object is pretty much ruined for me.  Or if I mess up any of my rituals, like the order of using bath products in the shower something bad will happen and I don’t have the opportunity to set it right until I shower the next day.  The rituals soothe me and make me feel safe.  Knowing what objects are good and what objects are bad does the same thing.  Sometimes a good object becomes bad.  More rarely a bad object can become benign or even lucky, which is what I was going for today. 

Knowingly opening myself up to the opportunity for something bad to happen goes against every fiber of my crazy being.  It is me standing up to myself and I always feel rather proud when I am able to do it.  I got pretty damn far into the day and I was thinking that this was going to be a victory post of sorts.  I vanquished the evil from my underwear!  The only pair I have that has lace on them!  WooHoo!

Um yeah, and then at about 8pm I talked to Z.  And he told me we got a multi page letter from the IRS explaining that they want the $8,200 that they refunded us last year for the First Time Homebuyer’s Tax Credit back.  He is going to fax the letter off to the accountant tomorrow and hopefully this is just some huge misunderstanding.  But holy fucking shit.  My underwear did this.  I can never wear them again. 

My little puppy dog tore around my sister's house this morning with toy keys dangling from his mouth.

  He was scared of the piano at first, but now he loves banging on it.


  1. So the IRS took not the shirt off your back, but your knickers? I'll be damned.

    I am so saddened by this story. I was totally rooting for your underwear saving the day.

  2. Thanks Kelly, me too. Instead the unhelpful and crazy part of me scores a major victory. Gross.