100,000 People Saw My Underpants

Warning: The following material may not be suitable for younger readers or even older ones for that matter. Reader discretion is advised.

I got a new washing machine a couple of days ago. The salesman who spoke maybe 20 words of English assured me that I got a, “swreet dear” or sweet deal for those of you who do not speak the language. It was delivered and of course I needed an adapter for my water line. The delivery guys went and obtained the part and installed it with great difficulty I might add. Just when it seemed that we had all the problems solved, the water line to the washer leaked. The delivery man either told me he would return tomorrow to fix it or to jump off a bluff he was tired of messing with the dumb foreigner. It must have been the latter as he never showed up the next day.

It was no big deal as I had to walk right by the store from which I purchased the machine. I took the part in and with the help of my language tutor, we got a replacement hose. I had it installed in less than 2 minutes. That is when the real fun started. Figuring out how to use a foreign washing machine with no English on the machine or in the instructions is not a task for the faint of heart.

I found the on button. I knew I had found it as lights came on and music played. Yes, my washer plays a little tune while one figures out the other settings. The next button is load size. This was an easy one as it had pictures of scoops of washing powders beside lights. You mash the button until the proper sized load is indicated. The third button is still a mystery, but I mashed it until the middle light came on. The last button I think involves the length of the spin cycle as the more you mash it the higher a number gets. All of this took about 3 failed attempts at completing a wash, but I eventually completed my first load of laundry in the far east.

Dryers do not exist here but clothes lines do. Everyone hangs their clothing on balconies or windows even in bushes outside of houses. Anywhere there is a bit of room. I have a wire on my balcony for wet clothes. As I pulled out wet clothes from my new machine, I just slung them on the line, until I got to my first pair of underpants. I decided that I would take my socks and underpants into my living room and hang them near my new heater and let them dry inside. As I hung the last pair on the edge of my desk chair and looked around the room, there was a weeks worth of underpants scattered all over my living quarters. This was unacceptable as you just never know who might stop by, so back out onto the balcony and onto the line they went. So on display outside on my balcony for all the city to see are my 7 pairs of Puritan underpants that I got for Christmas. Just one of the subtile reminders that I am not in Kansas anymore.

Today’s blog brings the opportunity to share with the world a poem I wrote a few years ago, but seems somewhat appropriate on this occasion. I have shared it with a few of you at various times but since the entire city has seen my underpants, the whole world might as well here my underpants poem.

Underpants Underpants boxers and briefs,
Underpants Underpants replaced the fig leaf,
Underpants Underpants a laundry gripe,
Underpants Underpants with a racing stripe,
Underpants Underpants everyone has some,
Underpants Underpants to cover your bum.

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