Bob

Batz

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March 13, 2009

Folding Brassieres and Other Strange Rules of Underwear

The other day my first wife Sally asked me one of those questions husbands can’t possibly answer. If you are a husband, you know the questions I’m talking about.

I was faced with my impossible-to-answer question after I retrieved a week’s worth of wash from the dryer in the basement and Sally asked me “How come you never fold my brassieres?”

I was, needless to say, somewhat taken aback by her query. I mean, until that very moment I never realized you had to fold newly-washed brassieres.

Shoot, I just figured brassieres were among those things that you just tossed in the bottom of the laundry basket before you made the trip up the stairs. To me, the act of folding a brassiere is as much of a challenge as wrestling a polar bear.

Brassieres, to my way of thinking, are supposed to flop around unfolded on the bottoms of laundry baskets. Besides, even if I don’t fold one of them, who in the heck is going to notice?

If they were worn outside of blouses, sweaters and what-have-you, I could see a need for folding them. But most of the women I know wear their brassieres under their clothing, so what’s the big deal if those undergarments happen to have a wrinkle or two?

The last time I had to deal with an underwear issue was 60 years ago when I was a kid growing up in Flint, Michigan. In those days, my mother insisted that I wear clean underwear to school every day. It was one of the 11 gazillion or so rules my mother lived by.

Her other rules included, but were not limited to:

·         Don’t say naughty words.

·         Say “please.”

·         Say “thank you.”

·         Don’t slurp your milk.

·         Sit up straight.

·         Pick up your toys.

·         Don't hang your clothes on the doorknobs.

·         Eat all your vegetables.

One morning I questioned Mom's underwear rule. That's when she smiled, took my hand in hers and said, “What if you are hit by a car on the way to school and they take you to the hospital and people notice your underwear is dirty?”

I suddenly imagined myself lying in a crowded emergency room as the doctors and nurses were trying to decide which patient to treat next. That’s when the physician in charge says, “The Batz kid can wait because he’s not seriously injured . . . and, besides, he’s wearing dirty underwear.”

Contact Bob at bbatz@woh.rr.com

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