Several days ago, as I ventured out my front door for my morning constitutional, I was greeted by what I believe to be dirty underpants. As if in an almost ceremonial hazing, like a burning cross in my lawn, there lay these dirty underpants strewn across my ‘Welcome’ mat. Though I didn’t have any at the time of the sighting, had any a.m. guests ventured to my door, I’m sure the last sensation the underpants would have created is a feeling of ‘Welcome.’
Perhaps in a different culture, underpants on your doorstep is viewed as a sign of respect, or maybe like the Jewish slaves of Egypt the underpants kept the angel of death from my first born. Maybe the underpants belonged to a single man who felt he couldn’t handle the underpants or he felt he wasn’t responsible enough to take care of them on his own thusly leaving them on my doorstep.
I don’t understand the method behind this madness, but it appears to be nothing more than a sign of the times. What kind of ‘free’ society exists that one can be allowed to leave dirty underpants, MENS underpants mind you, on another man’s doorstep? Not the free society of my father’s fathers that’s for certain. Had they have been lady underpants, some lacy number, well then I would just assume either my address is incredibly close to that of Tom Jones’, or I had a lady admirer who wants ‘to skip the small talk.’
In any event I’m not taking the situation lightly. If the underpants made it to my doorstep as some sort of ‘mistake’ (a mistake on par with the Hindenburg), I only hope what goes around does not then come around.
For all you dreamers…welcome to Hollywood.
