A few afternoons ago I was home early and on the phone with Mindy Lu, walking all around the house and talking about children and makeup and hair and Nars Multiple sticks. The children got off the bus and proceeded to run screaming to my bedroom door, anxious to tell me something.
A pair of my panties went to school with Mabel that day.
Hmmm. Well, it was a matter of time before true humiliation as a parent started. I mean, they puke on your work clothes as babies and then shit themselves during communion. But taking my panties to school? That’s a new one for me.
Mabel’s coat had been washed and dried the night before. Daddy brought the dry clothes upstairs that morning for folding and Mabel grabbed her coat out of the full basket to put on before the bus came. My guess is that the pair of black, satin knickers was attached to one of the eleventy pieces of Velcro on her lime green coat. Firmly attached.
And so she rode the bus to school dragging along those panties, ran around school at recess [not climbing the snow hill] dragging those panties, and got on the bus ride home attached to those panties. I have no explanation for why nobody stopped her and said, “Hello, little girl with enormous blue eyes, you have a thong attached to your coat just there.”
It was somewhere along the bus ride home that my panties finally fell off of her coat and landed on the floor of the school bus. Andrew noticed them and very loudly proclaimed that his mother’s underwear were present on the school bus. I’m not sure if he was entertained or mortified. The panties were kicked and dragged and spotted by several giggling kids. They were picked up and inspected, Sixteen Candles-style, in all of their cheeky glory. Trevor hid in his seat on the back of the bus. Eventually those black panties made it back up to the front of the bus.
It was just then that the school bus driver [who is a youth pastor, by the way] looked down over his shoulder and saw my crumpled pair of black panties, exhausted from their overexposure. Andrew and Mabel, who sit at the front of the bus, stared at him, unsure of exactly what to say. The bus driver reached down and picked them up with his ink pen, extended them to my son, and asked, “Are these your mother’s?” Andrew stared at the underwear hanging there from the pen and nodded slowly. “Could you please take them home with you?” Andrew nodded again and very carefully pinched the panties between the smallest fractions of skin possible on his thumb and finger, and put them in his pocket.
They returned them to me in my doorway while I was on the phone, and it was a race to see which boy could spit out the story first. They were all both entertained and mortified. Andrew thought it was magnificently hilarious. And Mabel, she had moved on to playing dollies and picking her nose. I mean, she can’t be bothered with the great majority of things and I am firmly convinced she cannot be embarrassed either. Ought to make those teenage years fun, huh?
Trevor did say he wished I wore “granny panties” instead. Ummm. No. Sorry son, no can do.
I don’t really feel very humiliated. I mean, it was Velcro. Everyone knows everything sticks to Velcro and if you’re a girl you definitely know that satin underthings stick to Velcro. Do I wish that my panties hadn’t been viewed by the public that day? Sure. But am I really going to hang by head in shame about it? No way.
It’s nowhere near as funny as the time Judy found a thong in my light fixture.