A Tale of Gold Lame (pronounced la - may): Part One

All families have their little quirks. My father is the Master Packer and can get an amazing amount of stuff into any size suitcase or box using his Master Packer skills. My mother does not throw away any item of clothing, no matter what it is. Old pants? Donate them or give them to your daughter. Old sheets? Rag basket or give them to your daughter. Old underwear? Dust rags or give them to your daughter.

One day my parents' quirks came together and caused A Disaster in Gold Lame.

The Disaster ocurred before I had children. I was teaching high school English at the time. My mother wanted to send a box of Christmas presents to me. So far, so good.

Mistake #1: My mother asked my father to pack the box. He was disatisfied with the amount of space left in the box and asked her if she had anything else she could send to fill up that space.

Mistake #2: My mother had a supply of spare underwear (many with the tags still on since she is patently unable to bypass a good clearance rack)

Mistake #3: My dad used the underwear to FILL the box.

Mistake #4: My mother sent the box to my school so it wouldn't disappear off my front doorstep while I was at work.

Mistake #5: The office paged me to come get my box and when I arrived, several secretaries, teachers, and even the principal were there, all urging me to open the box and see what I got for Christmas.

Mistake #6: I opened the box.

Result: The firmly packed underwear exploded from it's cramped quarters. Pastel pink undies slid across the secretary's keyboard. Daring red bikinis landed in the trash. But worse, WORSE, was the gold lame thong that flung itself at my principal's feet.

I did not live that one down.

More on the gold lame Disaster later...