A Lake Erie Under-Where? Adventure
It’s time. For the underwear story. I think you’re ready.
The ‘Dwear Saga, Part 1
The underwear question. Sure, sometimes it comes up in intimate situations, but it’s not usually a public question.
We moved to Port Clinton in June 2012, in the middle of last summer’s horrible heat wave. We had no AC in the new house and the day after I got here, I got poison ivy. I’d been battling it every year at our Indy house so I figured it was a parting gift from Indianapolis. But each day I got more and more and more. Until I was covered – just about up to my underwear.
After six straight days of poison ivy, it finally occurred to me to check on the temporary dog run we’d set up. And there it was, growing along the garage where my two black dogs rubbed up against it and then shared that poison ivy love with me.
It was time for steroids. Since it was Sunday, my husband took me to an area urgent care center. It’s on the second floor of an old Armory building, which once housed Company C of the 192nd Batalion during World War II.
A nurse brought us back to one of the huge, open-ceiling patient rooms and pulled the sliding barn-like door shut. My husband sat at a table in the room and read the paper while we waited.
When the intern arrived, in his peacock blue scrubs, he said he needed to inspect all areas of the rash to make sure it wasn’t scabies (not!). I had on my long black shorts that day and he couldn’t see the rash on my thighs, so he asked me to drop trou. He stood back about 15 feet (the room was that big), like Alien was going to explode from my stomach, and as I started to unbutton them, he cautioned, “Just to your underwear!”
I just rolled my eyes. “Yep, got that,” and continued. Then he said, “You are wearing underwear?”
Um, yeah. Really? You needed to ask this?
So I dropped my drawers (but not my ‘dwear) and got the steroid shot and meds and went on my way.
But I kept wondering about that question, where it came from.
Stay tuned for part 2 of the ‘Dwear Saga.
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