Monday, September 28, 2009
The Dog and the Y-fronts
It was March sometime in the early nineties at the end of a long cold winter and we had cabin fever. Anyone who has gone through an Ontario winter knows that there comes a time when all the slipping around on the frozen grey slush, and the biting morning cold that freezes your hair and the endless layering of woollens addles your brain a bit, giving a green light to things that wouldn’t seem such good ideas at any other time. Well, that’s what I’m blaming it on.
There were four of us there, toasty warm in the living room of our friends house; one of those houses where everything happened, and we were bored. We’d watched three movies, eaten a lot of popcorn and by three in the afternoon we were drawing straws for who’d brave the cold and hike out to the video shop. This process wasn’t easy because we’d been drinking since before noon. As the only girl there, and as a soft foreigner, I claimed immunity- my poor British bones would surely freeze out there in the outdoors. I was adding the final touches to my argument when, reaching down between the cushions of the soft sofa, I pulled out a large pair of Y-fronts. After the initial laughter and disgust, we laid them out on the floor while we explored possibilities about where on earth they’d come from- a near impossible task considering this was, as I said, one of those houses where everything happened.
I don’t know where the idea came from, but suddenly the alcohol and boredom peaked and before any of us knew what we were doing, ‘the house where everything happened’s dog, a huge lolling Lab/Rottweiler cross was wearing the Y-fronts, a neat hole cut for her tail. We were still wiping the tears of laughter from our faces when the doorbell rang, and as my friend, D signed for a parcel, the dog, knowing it was being laughed at, made a run for it.
As it turns out, Canadians are far faster at pulling on boots and mittens than drunken English girls are and I’d only just got myself kitted up for the chase by the time one of my friends returned, dog in one hand, Y-fronts in the other. He’d found her in the local park, dressed in her Y-fronts trying to get-it-on with a guide dog. It wasn’t one of our prouder moments.