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November 9, 2006

Wednesdays: Bible Club, Smelly Van and Pink Thong

My minivan is never clean and fresh, but it smells particularly putrid on Wednesday afternoons when I drive six fifth-graders from Bible Club to their various homes. An attractive younger mom has volunteered to teach the boys for several years now. Mrs. Sally does it either out of the kindness of her heart or a guilty conscience. Based on what I know of her, I’m betting it’s the former.

Mrs. Sally doesn’t have a ten-year-old, but she is blessed with a tremendous faith that is amply rewarded each Wednesday. I can tell because she lets the boys play in the nearby creek before their Bible lesson. Most parents would insist that the boys listen to the Word and then search for crawdads. In my experience, even the most assertive mother requires divine intervention to get thirteen boys out of a creek and in a circle to listen to a Bible lesson without resorting to tears, threats or cussing.

When Bible Club is over, Mrs. Sally (with help from the Holy Spirit) has each boy collect his belongings and gather at the end of the driveway to wait for their carpools, which they do with a normal amount of jostling and yelling, which seemed to shock Mrs. Sally at first. God has since fitted her with holy earplugs and the ability to step out of the way of a particularly vicious shove.

Finn and his friends get in the van, accompanied by the smell of wet sneakers, armpits that have never seen a streak of Right Guard, shirts that have escaped the laundry, and a thousand other noxious odors. This is when I apply my minty Pout lip gloss that masks the smells for the twenty-five minutes it takes to get everyone home. It also allegedly plumps up my lips, but no one in the van has ever remarked on this phenomenon.

Inexplicably, as soon as all my riders have crammed themselves into the van, they start talking in faux English accents. The minivan strains to make it up the steep hill towards the first house, and the accompanying chatter goes something like this:

“Henry, old chap, could you get your backpack out from under my butt?”

“I daresay it’s that your gluteus maximus is atop my backpack, Bo. Remove your gluteus maximus at once.”

“Mrs. Glamore, dear lady, might we hear some tunes from your iPod? Perhaps some Green Day?”

“Gross! I mean, that seems like a rather nasty choice to me. I would much prefer to listen to the latest by Hinder, if you please.”

“The driver has no Hinder. I asked last Wednesday when you were ill.”

I have no idea where the accents came from, but it’s jolly good listening.

Once we reach the top of the hill and make a left, however, all thoughts of Britain are gone. Everyone in the van, including me, is consumed by one thought: pink thong panties.

The pink thong panties lie discarded near the gutter by Henry’s driveway. They’ve been there for weeks. As I turn into the driveway, all the boys lean to the left, seeking a glimpse of magenta cotton.

I try various strategies to divert their attention.

“Back in your seats, guys,” I yelled the first time I was aware of the presence of the panties, “before the van tips over and we’re all smushed! Even weight distribution is vitally important for a safe ride!” It’s not, really. My motherly instinct kicked in, wanting to prevent them from seeing the wadded up panties, although we all knew they were there. It didn’t work.

I still felt that I had a duty to try something– anything– to prevent them from seeing girlie underwear lying discarded by the street, so the next week I sped up as we got to the driveway, executed a sharp right turn, and bounced up the asphalt, scraping a trench into the road with the bike hitch and giving everyone whiplash. After all that, they still saw the panties when I made a somewhat more careful exit out the driveway.

The next week I discovered that screaming as if I had been shot did not draw the boys’ attention away from the shrubbery and underwear and onto me as I had intended. Their sharp eyes spotted the thong, which had been exposed to the elements for over a month, although it was not as bright a pink, and was starting to be covered by falling leaves.

“There! I see them! It’s the thong panties! Hey, Mrs. Glamore, when you come back down the driveway, can you drive really, really slow? Please?”

“Pink panties! Pink panties!”

“Someone should get out and grab them and we can make Henry wear them on his head!”

“No, put them on over your pants and walk around like a girlie man!”

“A girlie man with a bikini on!”

“It’s not a bikini, it’s a thong.”

“There’s no difference, it’s all underwear.”

I glanced over at Finn as the last comment came from the back seat and heard him mutter to himself, “Actually, there’s a lot of difference between a bikini and a thong.”

That was it for me. The next morning after Jazzercise, I went to Henry’s with a shovel and a grocery bag. I scooped up the thong, deposited it in the bag, and dumped the whole thing in the trash.

I daresay we’ll have to content ourselves with some funny accents and Green Day from here on out, eh, chaps?

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 10:58 am • Boys: Demented & Dangerous,Inventions, Creations, Experiments   

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14 Responses to “Wednesdays: Bible Club, Smelly Van and Pink Thong”

  1. This has got to be the funniest thing I’ve read in eons!!! I LOVE the British accents/dialect!! Too funny. And, since I have no children yet, I didn’t realize that 10 yr old boys had quite so much knowledge of ladies’ undergarments. I’m a bit shocked, but highly amused!

  2. Yeah, Finn’s knowledge of the differece between a bikini and a thong seems highly suspicious. Maybe Bill should start saving up for that condom dispenser!

  3. Oh, good show!

  4. What a smashing little tale, old bean! (Nope — Southern + Brit accent = awkward in my particular case. šŸ™‚

    I’m glad that you removed the offending undergarment, if only for the sake of the children. I can totally see a rowdy group of boys fighting over who gets to put the dirty, muddy (and ew — possibly previously worn!!!) panties on and parade around like a showgirl.

    I don’t think Finn has been ogling too many Victoria’s Secret catalogs for thongs, though… Bill’s probably already training him in what to get his wife to wear to bed. That sneaky Bill!

    I got nuthin’ on how to keep the smellies from being less so. Still working on that for my daughter’s favorite boots. Whewee! Those things could kill from forty paces. Talk about biological warfare! Let me know if you find any solutions. I’m already trying to implement the patented Glamore System of Laundy Management, so another Glamore-ous product won’t do us any harm!

  5. Good lord, where are they coming up with the ACCENTS? That is hilarious.

  6. Too funny! I do wonder where the boys came up with that accent? That is so cute! But I’m wondering why nearby homeowners never got rid of the panties themselves.

  7. Good show I say! It was good thinking to dispose of the pink thong panties yourself. I can just imagine a van full of boys trying to oogle them…too funny (sorry, it probably isn’t funny to a parent of said boys) ;0)

  8. I love that kid of yours. I think if I ever moved down South, Finn and I would be best friends. I always try to get my wife to speak in a British accent with me all day but she thinks I’m childish and immature! Go figure!

  9. Now, what’s really funny is that I used to walk through the tiny kingdom when I lived in an apartment there. There was a pretty, uphill street that I always walked up, and I swear to you, I still remember seeing pink panties on the side of the road, and that was at least a year and a half ago! I’m sure it’s not the same pair, but that’s pretty mysterious.
    The British accents have to be better than hearing regular old boy yelling in the car!

  10. That is fantastic, all around. Thanks!

  11. I love when “Bible Club” and “thong” are together in one blog post title.

  12. Hilarious! You’re a fine woman to rid the world of the pink thong eyesore. You need to talk to Dutch over at Sweet Juniper, who found a, um, a butt plug in his gutter.

  13. right O chap! got to take one for the team now and again, I dare say!

    but ummm. if there was a pair of pink panties in front of my house for a day or more i would have picked them up myself! thats just odd!

  14. Too damn funny! My eldest speaks with a British accent sometimes – we have no idea where he learned it or why he does it but it is alternately cute and weird.

    I do the same thing with the minty lip balm – Burts Bees Beeswax Lip Balm (in Raisin, thankyouverymuch)! Amazing what it can do, no? As to the odors… well… my stepson is now 21 with his OWN car but I well remember the days of carting him and his stinky cousins / friends around… Febreeze, or Yankee Candle air fresheners can help although I find the air fresheners a bit strong… Got a favorite scent which is strong? A friend of mine spritzes her car interior with Opium once per week. It’s gorgeous, no matter who’s been riding in there!

Welcome to the Kingdom

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I'm Anne Glamore, wife, mother, lawyer and blogger. I have three boys, and I'm desperately trying to train them to become Southern gentlemen, but that may be an unrealistic goal. At this point I'd be ecstatic if they'd quit farting at the dinner table. If you're new here, check out the Readers' Favorite Posts below or browse through the Categories. I write about my attempts to teach the boys about peckers and sex (which we call "making googly eyes"), my struggles with hepatitis C and spine surgery, the boys' adventures with fire and pets, my mom's death from ovarian cancer, my love of cooking (with plenty of recipes) and anything else that crosses my mind. Join me on Twitter or StumbleUpon or Email me. I'm happy to speak to your group or club.

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