Some of my blogs strike a cord with my readers. Something I write stirs a memory. Most are good, and its part of the reason I write. If I can bring back a memory, perhaps one we’ve shared, and make you smile or laugh, I’ve done my job. My latest about “Valentine Candy” brought a smile to one of my college roommates. He remembered one of my candy recitations from more than fifty years ago. We didn’t have to be together to make a new connection.
My “Shortcomings” blog flipped a switch on another friend. It reminded him of a film called The Full Monty. Its a British comedy about six unemployed steel workers who form a male striptease act. They do the steel worker version of the Chippendales hoping to make some money. They perform for a bar full of women who cheer them on to go for “the full monty”. The full monty meaning: the works, the whole ball of wax, the whole nine yards, the whole shebang.
A few years ago, while playing golf with two friends, the rear end of my pants split. I was wide open from stem to stern. The split exposed my tighty whities, and my misfortune brought my friends a great deal of joy. They had a big laugh at my expense. As the years passed, the split became known as the full monty.. We were three guys playing golf. If they got their kicks by looking at my underwear, I wasn’t going to let their joy deter my game. We just played on. The older you get, the less these mishaps disturb you.
When I was a senior in high school, my friend, Bill, and I hitchhiked to school most days. If we timed it just right, Linda B. picked us up. She had access to her grandmother’s new burgundy 1965 Ford Thunderbird. I loved riding in that car. When we got to school, Linda parked in the senior lot, and we’d all head to homeroom.
On one such morning, my pants split as I crouched down to retrieve the books from the bottom of my locker. I was wide open. A seventeen year old exposed rear is entirely different than a seventy year old one. Seventy-year-olds are well seasoned. Seventeen-year-olds are embarrassed.
Luckily for me, Linda let me borrow her grandmother’s t-bird. She gave me the keys, and I drove home to get a new pair of pants. I made it back in time for second hour. That day’s first hour class is the only hour I missed during my senior year.
I received a video clip from a friend today. It has nothing to do with “Valentine Candy” or “Shortcomings”. There’s no reference to The Full Monty, split pants, Ford Thunderbirds, or hitchhiking. It has absolutely nothing to do with anything I’ve written in this blog, except one friend reached out to another and shared a smile and a laugh.
I hope it brings one to you.