An Old Pair of Underwear
Photo Credit: elvisripley (Flickr.com)
“But they’re comfortable!” Louis protested.
“I don’t care. They’re full of holes,” said Joan. She held the boxer briefs up with both hands and made a face as she looked at them. “How can this even be comfortable for you?”
Louis took them from her and poked his fingers through the holes. They were at the seam of the crotch, where the fabric that went over the leg met the bottom of the brief. “I get hot down there,” he explained. “Friction, you know? My thighs rubbing together, things swinging around…”
Joan stood up. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, you can fold the laundry yourself,” she said, and huffed out of the room. Louis followed her into the dining room, where she had already sat down and pretended to be interested in the newspaper.
“Why does it matter to you what my underwear looks like?” he asked. “I mean, nobody sees them, and besides, it’s not like anyone has to deal with them but me.”
“You care about what mine looks like,” she replied with a caustic tone.
“Yeah, but that’s different,” he said. “Yours are, you know, sexy. You don’t care about mine as much.”
“I care that they don’t have holes in them,” she said.
“Why?”
“I just do!” she shouted. “Is it too much to ask that you buy some new underwear when they’re falling apart?”
“So I can spend more money on things I don’t need?” he asked. “Think about how much I’m saving on underwear by not replacing them every time they get a little hole in the seam.”
She slammed her book down. “It’s like six bucks for a three-pack!” she shouted. “I think we can afford it!”
“Yeah, but if I spend that every month, that adds up,” Louis said. “I’m saving us like a hundred dollars a year in unneeded underwear.”
She glared at him now as she stood up. “You know what? Fine,” she said. “If you want to dress like a bum, you do that. Do whatever makes you happy, because that’s always what you do anyway.”
She stormed out of the room and slammed the bedroom door. Louis laughed, and walked over to the doorway.
“What are we even fighting about?” he asked her through the door.
There was no answer. Louis shrugged. “Whatever,” he said, and, clutching his underwear, returned to the living room to finish folding the laundry.
Writing Scraps | SeanJJordan | 
January 4, 2010 12:02 am
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