When I Asked You to Hoover...

Can anyone tell me why Johnny keeps receiving these things in the mail?

I'd like to think he has no use for Biofit Uplift, whatever it is. And I know for a fact he's just not organized enough to have a secret undergarment life.

Monday night, he had a wake to go to. It took him an hour to find the one white t-shirt with no paint spills on it that he saves aside to go beneath the dress shirts that he only ever wears at times like this. (You didn't think he was going to wear the white tee by itself, did you? No, no. We're versed in our Miss Manners. We know that one wears black t-shirts on such occasions. But poor Johnny doesn't own one, so the white-tee-with-something-over-it would have to do.)

And that dress shirt? The one he wore over the Hanes white tee it took so long to find? He pressed it on a towel on the floor -- kneeling in his jockey shorts to do it. He insisted that was how his mother always did their clothes, and maybe that's truth (crisp bag in the middle of a lake, remember). But I think it highly unlikely she would have used the damp bath towel that moments before had been wrapped around her newly-showered hips.

The truth, I suspect, is that he has no idea where we keep the ironing board and was hoping to look pathetic enough that I'd offer to help. I didn't. What? I don't know where the hell the ironing board is!

I should probably point out here that the deceased was a casual acquaintance of Johnny's from the pub. The tall guy from three stools down. All the bar patrons attended, which was nice, but it's not as if he were a near-dear friend. If he had been -- if Johnny was in genuine mourning -- I certainly would have sucked it up and pressed the shirt. I would have gotten a fresh towel, though. And I would have put it on the table.

Then which one of us would have worn the panty?