Our annual Christmas trip went well, with minimal fighting due to bad weather driving, ("Slow Down!" "Just go to sleep!" "I can't, I'm too scared!" "Stop yelling at me!" "Well, then, take the cruise control off!" etc.) 2 colds, concentrated family time, lots of food, too many presents, and plenty of relaxing.
When we got to my Dad's on Friday, Dr. B began complaining about the lack of underwear he had with him. I hadn't bought him any new in France, and after we got back to the US I injured myself and hadn't been able to go shopping in over 3 months, so some had worn out. Since he'd been doing laundry, he just kept washing frequently, and it wasn't a big deal, until we were on vacation and he didn't have enough. Rock (my sister) and I headed to Old Navy (his preferred lingerie boutique), picked up 5 new pair for him, and tossed them in the laundry. He especially loved the ones with the robot print.
As we got ready to leave on Christmas Day, Dr. B did all the packing, while I sat and chatted with my grandparents. I still wasn't really mobile yet, so staying out of his way was the best method for 'helping'. We got in the car 10 minutes before our self-imposed deadline for leaving, and made our way down the road, making good time and looking forward to the prime rib dinner that awaited us at his Mom and Dad's.
About an hour and a half into the 4-hour trip, Dr. B let out a loud expletive. Or two.
"!@#E$%^&!!! Oh, crap! My underwear. They're all in the dryer at your Dad's."
I called my sister, and left a message for her so she could return the load to us when we saw her in Minneapolis the next week. We enjoyed our dinner, and I made plans to drive his Dad's car (an automatic) to the store the next day to remedy the situation. I headed out, this time to the Kmart down the road (I didn't want to deal with the traffic that would surround the Old Navy on the day after Xmas), to pick up some undies for him. Hanes were on sale, so I grabbed two packs of three, one being the traditional boxers, and one being the "comfort waistband".
On the way to Minneapolis for the wedding, I decided to check to see how things were working out.
"So, do you like the Hanes?"
"Some of them. The comfort waistband ones are good. They are pretty comfy. But not the others."
"Huh? What do you mean? They're just boxers."
"Yeah, but they're designed for people like your Dad. No-butt people. Flat fannies. For me, Mr. Bubble Butt, they just don't work."
"Oh, so they're Hank Hill boxers, for those with DGS (Diminished Gluteal Syndrome)."
"So, they're too small? I got the medium, but I could buy a large..."
"No! Not that. No. It's just that, well, they pull across the tush, and then, because the front part doesn't have a button, they sort of gap in the center. Things have a way of, um, poking out."
"Like an Advent Calendar!"
He burst out laughing.
With a big grin, he shouted, "MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!"