THURSDAY TOOTS: And the War of the Wedgies

I often think of myself as a ninja, a klutzy one that often falls and breaks bones and bonks her head a few times and is most certainly lacking stealth like precision, but a ninja when it comes to the art of wedgies.

Oh yes, my better half and I have engaged in sneak attack wedge-a-fying for seven long years.  Being that he’s a tall man, and I am a short chickalet, wedgies became my maneuver of choice and began out of my frustration of never being able to get the upper hand on a momentary play fight.  You see, my better half needs to only stick out his long annoying arm and secure his bony hand to my forehead, and well let’s just say that reaching him with my short appendages is next too impossible. And as I flail my arms here and there, it causes me much humiliation while he mockingly laughs at my inability to get at him.

Not one for backing down after being bested, I developed my ninja wedgie strategy early on in our relationship.  Ah yes, in the beginning  when he least expected it, I would get behind him, grab the back of his underwear and hike it up as hard as my short little arms could go and watch him stand up on his tip toes screaming like the little girl I knew he was.  Oh the pure joy of one upping him was beyond pleasurable, in fact I would say I was euphoric with my new found ability.

Unfortunately many years later, and perhaps one too many sneak attacks, and he’s onto me. With the knowledge he has gained over the years of reading my face and movements, he has developed his own keen sixth sense of when a secret wedgie attack is about to happen.  In one quick deft movement, we often find ourselves in an embrace, with my hands around his waist pulling his underwear up, and his hands around my waist pulling my underwear up with both of us yelling:

“Say uncle.”

“No you say uncle.”

“You say uncle first!”

“NEVER!!!”

“Let go for gawd sakes!”

“No you let go!”. 

This impasse can go on for a very long period of time while we both teeter on the tips of our toes and our lovely dulcet tones become banshee-like shrills.  Neither one of us willing to let go due to our genetically imprinted stubborn streaks, we often stay in that position until we ultimately hear “rrrrrrrrrrrriiiipppp”.

Oh yes it is true my friends, between the two of us, we have bought so many pairs of replacement underwear that we should own full shares in Fruit of the Looms and Hanes.

I suppose I won’t stop these sneak attacks until I have reach my ultimate goal of an atomic wedgie status.  You know, when you pull the underwear up so high that you can stick it over the victim’s head.  The fact that he is a foot taller than me is not deterring me at all from my goal!  One day that man is going to be 80 years old and not so spry in his movements, and when that day comes, I will have my atomic wedgie revenge.  It won’t be that difficult, I’ll just trip him with my cane, grab the back of his undies and yank them to the moon!  Let’s just hope the Depends are as stretchy as his Fruit of the Looms.

Until Next Time.
Smooches Pooches