I don’t know why things happen to me and not to other people. I’ve been locked in the museum, my panty hose fell down uptown and my skirt slithered off in the lobby of a bank.
I try to tell my family that this kind of stuff is not my fault. Who knew the museum hostess would forget I was still inside? Who knew when I walked home for lunch that I would walk right out of my pantyhose? Who knew that a button would pop off my skirt and there it would be.
Down around my ankles.
So, when this next thing happened, I thought about not telling anyone. But in a small town, news flies like mud under a tire. As a result, my kids will learn about it through Facebook and my husband will hear it in the grocery store. So, now, I try to disclose everything.
Well, not everything, just what they need to know.
What happened was practically nothing but since it involved my underwear it was necessary to tell my husband. But I knew how this was going to go so I had to pair my disclosure with another piece of information that would take away from the part about my undergarments falling off in a public place.
Randy has heard that story before.
So, I needed something else, some news that would garner Randy’s attention and distract him from my wayward underwear.
Whatever it was, it had better be good.
The next day, something happened and I knew this was just the distraction that I was waiting for.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.