The Underwear Stage.

Still no modern conveniences on at home. I've got calls in to the cable/internet/phone people, so hopefully by this weekend or early next week. So I'm posting a shorty (pun intended - keep readin', you'll see) just to keep my cred and my sanity intact.

One of the habits of my old roommate was to walk around the place (downstairs and upstairs) in her bra and undies. This never bothered me in the slightest. On the contrary - that she felt OK strolling down in the middle of Buffy wearing nothing but a bathrobe was actually a sign to me that we were doing all right. Still, the feeling was never reciprocal. I hate wearing sweatpants or flip-flops in outside of my own bedroom. I'll go barefoot or in socks, but I'm a freak about being in clothing while other people are around.

Flash forward to this weekend. The old roomie and her boy moved all of her stuff into their new place, leaving me an open bedroom to move into and a downstairs that looks like something out of Warsaw circa 1943. FB was over and we marvelled at how little we do without television or the internet. A few hours into Sunday evening and my best friend/new roommate sauntered down the stairs in nothing but his skivvies and a tank top. I thought nothing of it - I mean we have seen each other naked in the past. It wasn't until later in the evening (while I was reading comic books and Fb was perusing W magazine) I was in nothing but my skivvies and a tank. In the living room!

And so it's offcial I've crossed the threshold: we've reached the underwear stage.

(No pictures are forthcoming, just to be clear.)

J.

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