You and your dad are fighting over your mother’s underpants. Your mother’s in the hospital and she said she needs some more pairs of underpants. You went home and asked your dad where she keeps them.
“There maybe?” like he either wasn’t sure which drawer is your mom’s underwear drawer, or he feels like it’s polite to pretend not to be sure about underwear drawers.
You opened it and found one pair of beige granny panties. It’s appropriate to call them granny panties because your mother is also a grandmother, and her panties are fucking huge.
Your Dad flipped out. “How can she only have one pair left!”
You said it’s okay. She must have brought a bunch to the hospital and they’re all in the wash. You’ll just go buy her some more if she needs.
“But how!” your dad shouted, holding the underwear in his ruined fist.
You reminded him of the Gap Body right near the hospital.
“We have to call the girls!” he shouted, meaning your sisters, because in his mind only a woman is allowed by law to purchase a women’s undergarment. You could have begun to explain to him that times have changed and these days everyone is buying and wearing different kinds of underwear just for the thrills, but he was hysterical and it wasn’t the time.
“Let’s just take this pair to her and we can worry about getting more later,” you said.
You reached for the panties. He pulled them away.
You reached again and got some of the fabric in your grasp. He tugged. You pulled.
You’re pulling. He’s pulling back. You’re having a tug-of-war with your father for possession of your mother’s underwear. It’s all come down to this.
Your father yanks backward, trying to regain full possession. You don’t let go, your grip far stronger than his. He politely but impatiently says your name, trying not to call attention to what you both know is happening. A battle. The battle. The one you always knew was brewing since you were a boy but you never knew would come. You’re going to win this.
It’s kind of sad how inevitable your win ultimately is. You give one final hard tug, freeing the underwear from your father’s tired fist, then you put a hand on his shoulder to steady him because he looks like he might lose his balance. Then the two of you quietly head out to the car.
You drive your father to see his wife. Neither of you say a word, both of you knowing the truth. The battle is over. Your mom’s underpants are in your jacket pocket. You’ve done it. You’ve finally won.
Happy Your Mother’s Underwear Day!