Black Boxer Briefs and A Weird Girl I Dated In High School
The title of this post is to denote two very random thoughts I had separate from one another but before I get into them, a response to some of the friendly and kind criticism I have received for not writing more often and when I do write, keeping the posts short.
People, you must chill.
I’m trying new things here, some of which involve writing shorter because the ability to do so is what separates great writers from people who want to be great writers. Mark Twain once said:
I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead
To my readers who have aspirations of writing or are pursuing a career in this field, remember that.
When I feel like I have something thoughtful to write about, I’ll do so at length. Also, I’m thinking about writing more about random topics, even if they have nothing to do with relationships. As most of you know, I write for a living, so I’ve entertained the idea of opening up the blog to include more of the things I write about in the pros. Who knows? Maybe I’ll give some back story behind a story I’ve written for some publication. Be on the look out for that, if it happens at all.
Okay, now that we have the formalities out of the way, onto black boxers and a weird girl I dated in high school.
Here’s the thing about black boxer briefs that I’m just now realizing: Even though I’ve kept a steady rotation of at least four or five pair in my underwear drawer pretty much my entire life, that’s not enough. Today when I picked up my fresh load of laundry from the laundromat (Yes, I do drop-off service. No, I really don’t care what you think of that.), I was more than happy to have in the bag a fresh clean batch of my all black boxer briefs and that’s when it hit me: I should just go with all black boxer briefs for the rest of my life. They should be as synonymous with me as tacos, which by the way, thank you to everyone who hit me today and wished me a happy national taco day. You all didn’t get me any tacos, but I digress…back to the black boxer briefs.
If any of you want to buy me a gift, but you don’t want it to be too expensive, just buy me a three pack of Champion brand black boxer briefs with the grey waistband. To my future wife, every year for my birthday and for Christmas, a pair of black boxer briefs with a grey waistband, Champion brand. To my children, listen to your mother when she tells you what to get me — black boxer briefs with…well, you understand.
Now, about this weird girl I dated briefly in high school. She was weird, and that was fine with me, but two weeks into our little relationship, her weirdness crossed the line and I had to break up with her the very next day because of it.
She came to one of my jazz concerts and for the grand finale, our band was playing Benny Goodman’s classic swing song, “Sing, Sing, Sing”. The weird girl and some friend she brought with her decided it would be a good idea to dance to the song in the back of the concert hall. That’s fine, other people were dancing too. But for whatever reason this girl thought it was cool to go up to my mom in the middle of the song and ask her if she wanted to dance. My sister had so many jokes for me after the concert, I had no choice but to break up with the girl.
Folks, there are two things you never do to Ms. Rita. 1) Interrupt her to ask her anything while her son is up on stage playing and making her proud. 2) Ask her to dance when she met you only a half hour ago.
Remember that people.