As long as what you wear under the jeans is clean.  That’s what my mother used to quote me from her mother: “In case you’re hit by a bus you’ll want clean underwear.”

I think that would probably have been the last thing on my mind if I got hit by a bus, but whatever.

My mother always used a car in the admonition. Either way though, clean underwear *would* be the last of concerns. And they probably wouldn’t be clean anymore, anyway. Made about as much sense as the advice to clean my plate because there were starving children in China. I would have happily sent them that godawful fried liver.

I think I could tolerate liver if it didn’t smell so awful when it was frying.  Not even bacon and onions could overpower that.

I can’t even bribe my boy to mow the law these days. Of course, he’s home from college for the summer and is much too aloof to condescend to manual labor. Plus, he insists that I need the exercise more than he does. I hate it when he is right!

I am chuckling as I read this...I guess all mom’s are alike in their admonitions to their kids.  My mother’s line was--Clean socks AND clean underwear (maybe cause she had two sons before I came along).  At any rate, my brother was in a car accident (broke a leg, an arm and I don’t know what else) when he was around 16.  His big concern in the ER??  He had not put on clean socks before he went out and knew he would be in big trouble with my mother!!!  Of course, she would not be at all concerned with the speeding, his injuries, etc., right? Amazing what our mind does.........

And of course, when my sons were growing up, didn’t I ALWAYS tell them to never ever leave the house without clean underwear cause..........(one or both of them was being a smart ass once and said, oh, so when we are home, we don’t have to??!).  And both of them (at separate times) were in fairly minor accidents (thank goodness) and after all was said and done, told me that at least they had followed my instructions!!!!

(Hey I am getting a complex here--AGAIN my word is fagin.........you trying to tell me something??)

Boy, I’ll tell you...clean socks in this house happen about once every six months—when I buy new ones. With a kid who goes out running through the state park nearly every day—which includes slogging through the mud—socks lose their pristine whiteness in a hurry. No matter how much oxyclean or bleach I use helps that. Of course, one could insist that only a couple of pairs of socks be designated for running in the park, but that would mean being totally organized in the sorting and washing of said socks...when most of the time, I’m lucky to FIND the socks to wash them. It requires excavating to FIND socks to wash. And then, of course, the dryer eats its share.

So I’ve given on socks. Having two reasonably matched socks is major success in this house.

I think we’re reaching that point, Pablo. I could write a book of the excuses I’ve heard in the last year for all the reasons why a certain lad can’t mow the grass or clean his room or whatever chore it is that needs to be done. Which is why I’ve had to resort, a couple of times, to my ultimate dire threat...if you don’t do it, you are going to find that pile of stuff on your floor pitched out the window in the front lawn when you come home. This is the FINAL warning. That still works ‘cause he knows I’ll do it.

Although...now that he’s connected wirelessly to the internet....heh, heh. Stealing the wireless thingy has definite possibilities....

With regard to ‘fagin’ I may have to delete that word and substitute something else. You’ve had it, Cyn, as well as Linkmeister. And I just had it, too. I don’t want to think too much about what that might mean. Banish him, I say.

and jacobmarley pops up to concur....

I have no objection to Fagin as such, but it makes me want to say “Please, sir, may I have some more?” with a Cockney accent.  Anybody hear the Bow Bells?

Well, given the times, maybe a more heroic figure would be appropriate. Maybe I should toss Tom Paine into the pot and see what happens.

Ok, but not Patrick Henry, or I’ll immediately start declaiming “Give me Liberty or Give me Death!”

Okay, we’ll save him for when things get really, really desperate. I much rather let the poor man rest in peace, though.