I’m Nuts – So What

I don’t know how it came up, but one of my co-workers mentioned her boyfriend’s boxers. It reminded me of a pair of boxers I’ve been trying to get rid of and turn into a rag, but they keep getting laundered and returned to my drawers. (He-he; the drawers return to the drawers!) Anywho, I’m trying to rid myself of them because they have a huge hole in the bottom. And not because I can let ’em rip when I’m gassy – not that part of the bottom. I’m talking immediately below the testicles. You know, if I did wear them under my jeans it would likely cause chaffing in a place that doesn’t need chaffing. Not only that, but a quick turn would cause them to constrict – something else I don’t want. I’m proud of my inability to sing falsetto! Plus, I tend to only have boxers and a shirt on after taking a shower; I put the rest of my clothes on after returning to the bedroom. In order to do that I have to walk passed our stairs. The last thing I need is the 5-year-old to see that. “Daddy, you got a fuzzy on your panties!”

Perhaps I wouldn’t have thought of that story had I not seen the sign I saw at work. We store some of our old signs next to our break area and one of them ends with two specific words, the only ones visible on the entire sign. “Nut Season.” Had I not been reading an article about deer season this would not have been so SCARY! I never had such a strong desire to purchase kevlar-reinforced jockeys.

Nuts were a big part of the day at work. We have a company we receive a product from called Tanner Nut Company. Sure, years of sunbathing may give you tan nuts, but theirs are Tanner!

Our dairy specialist had to set aside a large box of Brazilian nuts. She commented how heavy it was. I was like, “No wonder they couldn’t win the World Cup lugging those things up and down the field.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have delivered the punchline while she was holding the case over her head – darn near crushed her when she started chuckling.

That brought up some memories of my own past. When I was younger I started to show an interest in jogging. My parents purchased for me some jogging pants. You know, the spandex kind. Cold weather was upon us – I thought they were trying to freeze the twins. To top it all off, there was this string inside tied up like a noose. I’d love to be well-hung, but that was just SCARE-EE!

I also recently wrote about my friend Brandon and some of the weird games we came up with. Lots of immature boys play games involving risk to their genitals, and we were no exception. Balls of Steel required placing a book over your area then taking turns throwing a tennis ball there. The thinner the book (tiny paperbacks like Strunk and White’s Elements of Style) earned you more manly points than, let’s say, a dictionary. (Pun intended.) Poor Brandon. I had notoriously bad aim. I can’t recall how many bruises he received on his lower abdomen.

We even have a children’s learning to read series based on Clifford, the Big Red Dog. It uses the PBS version of Clifford. One of the titles is Get the Nuts. The picture on the cover is Clifford carrying a big sack – with a peculiarly familiar color – in his mouth. Ouch!

Well, you only have yourself to blame for reading this far. It’s my hope to write something just about every day (250 posts in one year is my goal). And, when material gets low, you sometimes just have to go a little nuts.

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