"Ivey Mae, do you have on underpants?"
"God mom. When are you going to stop asking me that?"
"Well, do you?"
"Mom seriously, look at me. Am I in any way dressed inappropriately? No cleavage, not even my arms are showing."
"But do you have on underwear?"
"Not that it is any of your business, I have told you repeatedly I do not like underwear with jeans. They cut your butt in half."
"But do you have underwear on now?"
"Mother I am not going to answer you."
"Well, you know that slut Brittney Spears doesn't wear them, or that Lindsey...." Stopping her mid-sentence I groan, but continue trying to get my point across.
"I know mom, I know. I really don't care who wears underwear or not. It is private. And for certain, I don't have to wear them just because you want me to. I am a grown woman."
Well, any decent grown woman would wear underwear, even if it did cut her butt in half. Then she pauses a split second, and emphatically continues.
"Marilyn Monroe didn't wear underwear either and I read she also likes the smell of her own....."
"Mom, stop!"
"Well you are the one who doesn't wear underwear and I was just pointing out the similarities and that she also liked the smell of her own vajayjay. Isn't that what they are calling it these days?"
"I gotta go. I just walked over to ask if you needed anything from the store not to get into the whole underwear deal."
"Thank you. Yes you can pick me up some milk. Make sure you check the date."
My brother then appears at the top of the stairway, looking down at the all too familiar scene, shaking his heard with humor and dismay. He quickly descends, with his long legs clearing the stairs three at a time. On the way out the door he throws a glance at my bare feet, and casually adds his two cents.
"I don't care if you wear any underwear. Just put on some shoes."
