Bitchin’ BriefsI blame it all on his shorts…whoever the hell his is! Everything came unraveled the day I found a pair of silk, leopard skin-patterned men’s briefs atop a pile of our folded laundry. I wear plain white cotton jockeys. Now I have a functioning brain and realize my marriage wasn’t so great before that dire discovery, but strange briefs among our washing didn’t help it along any.
Sharon and I married right out of college, before either of us knew who the hell we were. We both had careers. She was a nurse; I was a construction foreman. No one could convince us we weren’t madly in love…and we probably were…but we’d passed through that exalted state at least two years ago. Not a bad record among my generation; four years of bliss followed by two years of indifference, drifting to
