I'm Covered, Aren't I?

Swimsuit? Or underwear. You decide.

It was a hot summer day.

The girl whose family owned the only swimming pool in the town was hosting an impromptu pool party with her friends.

One girl came without a swimsuit.

“No problem,” the hostess said, “I have a whole drawer full. Just find one you like!”

She then waved, vaguely, before turning back to her other guests.

The guest disappeared, returning a short time later dressing in a modest blue two-piece.

Tossing out greetings to the young men and women clustered around the pool, she sauntered around to where her hostess was sitting.

And struck a pose.

“What do you think?”

Her hostess looked up, then shrieked and jumped to her feet. “Where did you get that?!” she said.

The guest blinked and glanced around nervously.

All eyes were on her.

“F-from your drawer, like you said.”

“The top drawer?”

“Y-yes.”

“That's my underwear drawer!”

“Eeeeeeee!” the guest sprinted back into the house.

She had been covered.

In what could easily be mistaken for a swimsuit.

But just being told she was wearing underwear made her scramble madly for shelter.

I thought this cartoon was hilarious.

Then, I saw it happen to my Mom.

Well . . . something similar, anyways.

It was still hilarious.

Our family was getting ready for church.

My current boyfriend, coming to church with my family for the first time and dressed uncomfortably in a shirt and tie, was seated in the great room, waiting for the rest of us.

I was the next to be ready, so I sat beside him and started talking.

Something I excelled at.

But I digress . . .

My mother scurried out of her bedroom and started puttering around in the kitchen, in plain sight of the two of us. She put a roast in the oven for dinner and then started tidying up from breakfast.

I kept talking.

But for some reason, my boyfirend woudn't look at me, but stared, instead, out the window.

I kept talking.

He kept staring fixedly (good word) at something outside.

Suddenly, my mother, still in the kitchen, said, “Oh, my! Look at me!”

I did.

As she was making a fast exit towards her bedroom.

At first I saw nothing wrong.

She was dressed in her usual fashion. Undershirt, bra, full slip.

Skirt. Stockings.

Oh. Wait. Something was missing.

Her blouse.

Suddenly my boyfriend's fixed gaze made sense.

He had noticed as soon as Mom had entered the room.

Huh. Funny that I didn't see it.

Okay, so observant, I wasn't.

Mom went through the rest of the day rather pink-faced.

Which was funny.

She had been completely covered.

Modestly, even.

In at least three layers of cloth.

But because the material had been termed 'underwear', she was embarrassed.

As I would have been.

As anyone . . . you get the point.

Aren't we weird?

Cleaning . . . And Underpants

Mom, with Chris and Jerry.
Mom's the goofy one in the middle.

Mom liked cleaning.

With six kids, one husband, assorted hired men and various other duties and hobbies, she did a lot of it.

A lot.

I think she did it in her sleep.

Certainly, she did it in ours. If we lay down on the carpet in the front room for a nap, we would be picked up and cleaned.

That's just how Mom was.

But, as with any demon cleaner, sometimes the clutter and rubble would get away from her.

Particularly if she was busy with a project and unable to follow us Neanderthals around, picking up and tidying after us.

I can remember two instances when this was brought hilariously to my attention.

The kids in the neighbourhood had been playing at my house.

I don't remember what we were doing, but it involved toys and games.

And mess.

After most of the kids had left, Mom came out of the kitchen and surveyed the detritus that can only be the result of many small bodies . . . having fun.

While she was standing there, Laurie, from next door, twitched her apron.

Mom looked down.

"You sure have a messy house, Mrs. String-am!"

I don't know what Mom said in response.

Probably something tactful, knowing my Mom.

But the story lost nothing in the retelling.

Another time, George and I were playing under the kitchen table.

Yes. Under.

I know. Weird.

Mom was bustling around in the business area of the room.

She opened a cupboard.

And pulled out something . . . unexpected.

"What the . . . who put this underwear in my cupboard?!"

What she was holding was actually a pair of swim trunks.

Light grey.

With sharks printed on them.

But why quibble over details.

George and I stared at them.

Then laughed uproariously.

Mom snorted, folded them neatly, and carried them to their proper home.

We never found out who left them there.

Over the years, I've made up several scenarios that would account for it.

None practical.

Or believable.

But after that, at least once a week, George and I would hide something 'underwearish' (not a real word - I made it up) in Mom's cupboard and wait for her to find it.

Then laugh ourselves silly when she did.

Okay, we were little.

Things were funnier then.

There is an addendum.

I was busy in the kitchen, cooking, cleaning.

One of the myriad duties that accompany the care and feeding of six kids and one husband.

I set a pot in the sink and turned.

"What the . . . who put these dirty socks on my cupboard?!"

I had turned into my mother!

It's a good thing.