The Undergarment Dilemma

“MOM!”

“Yes, Puck?”

The six-year-old yelled out to the kitchen from his bunk bed Tuesday night, “I’M NOT SURE IF I’M GOING TO WEAR THE RED UNDERWEAR OR KEEP IT FOREVER!”

I assured him that we could work out this existential crisis in the morning.

But it wouldn’t be necessary. Puck had already made up his mind. The Cardinal-red briefs were already packed in his cigar case suitcase for the ride out to the Big House:

“I’m never going to wear this pair. It will be my lucky underwear.”

With that dilemma settled, we arrived shortly after ten o’clock where Carrie was relaxing on the couch, feeling unwell. She asked for Saltines when Puck and I joined Mom on morning errands.

Carrie had questions waiting for Puck when we returned:

“So, Puck, who should I marry?”

“Nope. Not telling you that.”

I managed to learn from him later that he thought she should marry a “stranger.” But Puck the Magic 8 Ball only works in limited batches of time.

By the afternoon Carrie was feeling about the same. Still, after the game wrapped up, she joined Grewe for coffee before her trip back home to Nebraska.

Puck had already taken the opportunity that afternoon to unpack an old case of unused make-up in the garage, leftovers from Grandma Snicketts’ belongings. Minutes later, he had slathered a bar of face soap in ancient russet lipstick. The counters followed. So did a few select pieces of flatware:

“Look, Mom!” Puck brandished the mascara brush over a dinner knife. “It cleans it so well! See?”

I did see. So did the more-or-less white sleeves of Puck’s undershirt. No matter. It was on its way out anyway. The Artist at work. I’m sure Grandma Snicketts would be proud.