I see London, I See France, I See the Man-Cub’s Under….Wait…Where are Your Underpants?

As I mentioned earlier, I spent all of yesterday in Neighboring City with The Teenager’s volleyball team. Generally, on Sunday, I am at home doing laundry, obviously; that didn’t get done this week.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t think it was such a big deal except for the fact that, my inability to do laundry apparently affected the man-Cub’s ability to find clean underwear and, well... my eleven year old son attempted to go commando this morning.

I'll let that sink in for a moment.

Aaand...he might have gotten away with it, except; the kid is terrible at keeping secrets. In this case, he kept wiggling around in his seat at the breakfast table and giggling to no one in particular. When I finally asked what his deal was, he couldn’t contain himself and he confessed.

See? Terrible.

So, I gave the kid an A for Effort, an F for Execution and a C for Creativity and then I rooted around in a bag of old clothing that I hadn’t gotten around to tossing yet and managed to find a pair of undies that would make do for the day, therein ruining the child’s good mood, perhaps forever.

Too bad, said I.

This afternoon, I am doing laundry so as to prevent future attempts at commando-stylings on the part of the Man-Cub.

According to him I am no fun! and, just for that, I am sorely tempted to let him go commando one day; we’ll see how much fun he is once his jeans wear a sore-spot on his tender bits.

We’ll just see.