Apparently, I'm a nerd and DG is wearing underwear

It's no secret. I go to the renaissance faire. I even dress up. So does my 18 year old daughter. We both have season passes. Most of you reading this already know that fact. Some might not believe it. So, here's some photographic evidence from an awesome photographer named Tom George Davison. That's his work. You should go see it.







Quite obviously, that's me on the left and our daughter on the right. Well, today is Saturday and I'm not at faire. Sadly, I'm missing today. Ceej, the daughter, is at her college right now for "preview days". She's double-checking some things, meeting her roommate (who she has been talking to for a couple weeks now) and other college kid stuff. I could go without her- and I have- but I also had to drive her to her college on Wednesday. It happens to be about the same distance away as the faire (90 minutes, give or take) and with gas prices the way they are, I can only make that trip twice.

Oh, that's something- she would have driven herself, except last week, some golfer sliced a ball and smashed her windshield. Sadly, we only have liability on that car and we can't get it fixed right now. (Hopefully we can next week). Public golf courses are not liable for damage caused by the golfers. We would have to take it up with the golfer himself, but we have no idea who that was. A new windshield will cost us about $275, installed. That's cheaper than I thought it would be. We're hoping that when the house refinancing goes through, we'll have some extra cash leftover to get the windshield fixed. (the refinancing is a whole other issue that is more rant than entertaining).

So, I'm stuck here while she's off at her college and my friends are enjoying the faire without me. My older daughter (who lives in the same town where Ceej will be in college) is with her now and sent me a text. "Her roommate and her family are nice. Her mom really likes to talk. lol". I read that to the Disabled Guy. He gave me a knowing, slightly mocking look.

He said: "Oh. Wow. Yeah. Nerd."

Me: "What?"

DG: "You're a nerd. NERD!"

Me: "What does that have to do with her roommate's mom?"

DG: "Because you're a nerd and you like to talk to people. NERD!"

Me: "How does me talking have anything to do with being a nerd?"

DG: "You're a nerd and you talk to anyone."

Me: "Nerds are usually antisocial."

DG: "NERD!"

I know he was trying to make the connection between my going to the ren faire (where I've been known to talk myself hoarse) and my enjoyment of talking to strangers. Which I do. A lot. I had a conversation the other day at the grocery store with a woman from Tennessee who said she didn't know about the ren faire.

He kept calling me a nerd. Loudly.

Then he said, "I think I'm going to wear underwear today."

Me: "And that means what to me?"

He stood there, at the edge of the bed (I was getting ready to blow-dry my hair) and said, "I'm rounding them up. Puttin' them in a corral. Where they'll be safe. SAFE!" (he used the same loud voice for "safe" as he did for "nerd").

Me: "Putting what in the corral? What the hell are you talking about?"

He turned toward me and said, "Take a look... they're going away. Oooh-doo-doo-dooo-dooodle!" He did what I refer to as "the doodle dance" and said, "One last time! They're going AH-WAAAY-HAAAAY!"

He finally pulled up his underwear (green boxer briefs, just so you know) and declared: "My ass is HUGE!"

Me: "You weighed yourself last night and said you lost 20 pounds." (he did, actually).

DG: "It came back. It was jealous. Green with ENVY! Like my drawers! GREEN!"

I shook my head and asked: "What the hell are you going on about now?"

DG: "You're a nerd!"

Me: "You're telling me that you're going to 'put them in the corral' and 'them' means your junk and 'corral' means underwear. And I'm the nerd?"

DG: "NERD!"

So there you go. I'm a nerd, he's wearing green boxer briefs and our daughter's college roommate's mother likes to talk. Also, I'm missing today at the faire. I'm not really all that happy about that. The faire thing, the rest of it is cool with me.

A topic of a "delicate" nature...

The disabled guy has decided to start walking for exercise. What annoys me is that I walked for years (four miles a day, every day, rain/snow/cold/hot) and I know how far many of the intersections are from our house. Obviously, I can't walk as far as he does anymore (I will be, eventually). So I have told him, "X-street and Y-street are exactly a half mile from here, then you turn on Y-street and go to Z-street and that's another half mile..." and I've told him several routes that are not only all sidewalk or bike path, but also well-lit (he goes right before the sun comes up).

Leave it to him to zig-zag his gimpy ass all over the place. I told him he needs to pick a route and stay with it (or pick a few different ones and use only those) because if something happens and he has to call for a ride, I'm going to need to know where he is... and his phone call of, "I dunno, I'm near a blue house..." isn't quite going to cut it.

But I digress... on to the "delicate nature" promised in the title.

Here's a fact about the disabled guy you don't want to know. He goes commando. That is, he doesn't wear underwear. Once in a while he will, but not under normal, everyday circumstances. The other day, he was getting undressed for a shower after his walk and I said, with some surprise, that he was wearing underwear.

He said he had to. I asked why.

DG: "Because it gets hot. And nobody likes it when it gets hot like that."

Me: "Hot? It's 24° outside." (that's Fahrenheit).

DG: "Not that kind of hot. But you know..." *waves his hand in the general delicate area* "Hot."

Me: "Ohhhh, ohhh, I see. That area gets hot... and... underwear helps that?"

DG: *sigh* "It gets all hot and then it falls out the bottom."

Now, I'm quite shocked. I'm not sure we're talking about the same delicate area. So, I ask directly: "Your balls get hot and fall out the bottom... of what?"

DG: "Yes, my balls! What else would I be talking about?"

Me: "How do your balls fall out the bottom of anything? Of what are your balls falling from?"

DG: "Not falling out of! That's ridiculous! They fall down and get hot, like in NASCAR, the bottom just falls out and..." *wiggles fingers upwards while making a crackling sound* "Like fire! HOT!"

Me: "Your balls catch on fire from friction?"

DG: "Almost! And there's PAIN!" *more fire noise*

So, what I understand is that when he's walking all willy-nilly around the neighborhood, if he's not wearing underwear, his delicate man-parts get rubbed the wrong way and apparently burst into flames.

Then he said, "Plus, if I get hit by a car, it would be embarrassing not to have any drawers on!"

(for the record, when he had the stroke fifteen years ago, he was not wearing underwear. He sometimes still brings it up and says he's glad he was unconscious when they undressed him. I told him not to worry, the ER staff sees a lot worse than a guy without underwear).