This was my Christmas present.
It was a joke.
At least, I think it was a joke.
I haven’t had a need to use them yet.
In case you can’t read the tiny package, it says “emergency underpants”.
Like, I was going to poop my pants somewhere where I’d need to drop my drawers and freshen up.
Very funny, family, very funny.
That’s not me.
I am not that man.
I don’t know that carrying a spare set of underpants (no matter how craftily they’re hidden and squished into a small package) is going to protect me from Armageddon.
I’m going to be never-ready when the hammer falls….even though I’ll be able to change my underwear after the dooky hits the fan.
Remember that song, “I Wish They’d All Been Ready”?
That’s a spooky one.
Lots of little Christian kids….sanctified or sanctimonious (and I suspect there is a big difference between the two)….were either terrified or lifted to a new height of religious superiority by songs like that.
There’s power in being able to look at all the “thems” and declare, “gee….I wish they’d been ready.”
That’s power …to be up in the life raft….singing a song with the other people floating along.
I’d be grabbing everybody up until the boat began to sink….or, failing that, handing out my emergency underwear.
You can only do so much.
I wonder why my family thought that I needed that present, though?
Do they see something that I don’t?