Homecoming

Thirty-two years is a long time…

The other day a friend sent me an e-mail that she had gotten which contained some photographs from a 1970’s era JC Penney catalog. The author of the original e-mail was having a great time making fun of the styles, and who could blame him? It was simultaneously hilarious and sobering to see those pictures. To think that my generation once looked that way (bad hair, bad clothes) is troubling…

Anyway, the photos sent me for a brief trip down memory lane, to my senior year of high school and the fall of 1975.

I really was not a BMOC at my high school, probably more of a Medium MOC, but I was an ambitious 17 year-old, and was always looking for opportunities to move into that upper echelon.

One afternoon during homecoming week, I received a call from a cheerleader asking me if I wanted to participate in a kissing contest with all of the cheerleaders during the pep assembly of homecoming week. Even for me, this was a no-brainer, and I eagerly accepted her invitation. I checked with my buddies, Bill and Mark and Doug, and they too had been asked to participate. We saw this as our chance to make the move to BMOC status (although in reality, Mark may have already been there).

The pep assembly went along as pep assemblies did in the 70’s, building toward the grand finale, the kissing contest.

All of the participants were then asked to come down to the gym floor where we were seated in front of about 1500 people (it was a big suburban high school) in a row of folding chairs that stretched across one end of the gym.

We were then told that we would be blindfolded, kissed by a cheerleader, then be asked to rate the kiss. Seemed easy enough.

As we were being blindfolded we were a) eager with excitement that we were finally going to get to kiss a cheerleader and b) eager with excitement that we were finally going to move up to BMOC. We anxiously waited for the cheerleaders…

The PA announcer said “Bring the girls out!” and as they entered the gym it erupted into a cacophony of laughter, hoots, hollers and whistles…

It was at this point that I began to suspect something was terribly wrong…

The girls lined up behind us, and when it was your turn the girl standing behind you would lean over and give you a kiss. As I recall I rated the kiss kind of low. After all of the guys had rated their kisses, the girls were asked to come around and stand in front of us, and our blindfolds were removed.

We looked up to see our mothers standing directly in front of us… That’s right, we all had just kissed our moms in front of the entire high school!

Take a close look at the picture at the top of this blog, it’s from my senior yearbook. That’s me, kissing my mom at the homecoming pep assembly, in front of my entire high school…

I never did make it to BMOC…

P.S.

50 bonus points for anyone who can identify the aerial photograph at the top of the blog.

For you AHS-ers, only 25 bonus points…

Metamorphosis

Earlier this week, the people I work for were nice enough to send me on an almost all expenses paid trip to the desert of northeastern California. My assignment was to perform an investigation of a building in which the roof beams had cracked. Now I know that looking at cracks is not that interesting for most of you, but for guys like me it doesn’t get much better. Fortunately for all of us, there aren’t that many guys like me….

I flew into the Rogue Valley International Airport in Medford, Oregon, and boy were my arms tired… (Sorry I couldn’t resist….)

Rogue Valley International

Medford sits in the Rogue Valley, which was apparently named after bloggers with marginal talent. Well, either that or the Rogue River.

The Rogue River valley was originally inhabited by Native Americans who lived along the banks of the river. The river got its name because of this, and was known as “The River of the Rogues.”

Rogue River

On the flight to Medford our plane flew a little to the west and a few thousand feet above Mt. Shasta. The mountain was on my side of the plane and we were treated to a spectacular view of this snow-capped peak. Geologically speaking, Mt. Shasta is classified as a “Big Damn Mountain,” and rises approximately 10, 000 feet above the surrounding valley floor and topping out at 14,179 feet.

Mt. Shasta

On Saturday, Mrs. R and I went to the CU-Oklahoma game in Boulder. Before the game we went to the bookstore and loaded up on some gear, then headed over to the field surrounding the Benson Earth Sciences building where the Alumni Association sets up a big ol’ tent, has some live music, and serves some good food. We were treated to a performance by the Golden Buffalo Marching Band, and then all of us got up and followed the band into the stadium.

The field around the Benson Earth Sciences building was previously known as Brackett Field, and was used primarily as a site for intramural sports such as flag football and coed softball. As a student in the fall of 1979, I was asked by some junior high buddies of mine to join their flag football team. Being all too aware of our athletic ability, we signed up for the B-League tier, which was the lowest classification possible.

I played tight end on offense, and defensive end on defense. My role in the offense was to stand at the end of line and, “if nobody else is open, maybe we’ll throw it to you.”

On defense, I was to stand at the end of the line and “if somebody runs near you carrying the ball, grab their flag.”

B-League Intramural Flag Football offenses and defenses were very sophisticated in those days….

A few days before our first “practice” I read in the school paper that the Boulder Gay Liberation (BGL) was going to field two intramural teams in the fall semester, women’s volleyball and men’s flag football. I thought to myself “that’s cool; they should be involved in all of the campus activities.”

I went to our first practice; eager to show the guys how good I was at standing at the end of the line. I saw our captain, shook his hand and said “so, who is first game against”? The poor guy turned ashen, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and in a quivering voice he said “dude, we’ve got to win…”

It took me a few seconds, but then I got it. Our first game was going to be against the BGL. Now, intramurals was supposed to be a fun, low-stress, no-pressure way to get some exercise. But our team quickly realized that the all of the heterosexual men on campus would be counting on us. So much for fun, low-stress, no-pressure exercise…

At this time, the future Mrs. R and I had been dating for about a month or so. My father-in-law-to-be conveyed a message to me, through her, that said, “If you wish to continue seeing my daughter and to be welcome in my home, you better win the damn game!” So much for fun, low-stress, no-pressure exercise…

Game day was suddenly upon us, it was one of those glorious Colorado fall afternoons, with warm temperatures and clear blue skies. My roommate, who was also a teammate, and I left our dorm and made our way to Brackett Field. As we approached the field, we noticed quite a bit of folks surrounding the west end of the field, where our game was to take place.

Those folks included news trucks from a couple of the Denver news stations, and an all-male cheerleading squad wearing lavender shirts and white knit pants. They called themselves the “Lavender Express,” a not-to-subtle reference to the Denver Broncos Pony Express cheerleaders.

There were dozens of spectators surrounding the field, which was unusual for intramural sports. Most of the time, spectators included only the girlfriends of the two guys on the team that actually had girlfriends.

Late adolescence can be a difficult time for men, (actually anytime can be a difficult time for men, but I’ll save that for another blog) and so the unwritten code of flag football was that you used the shotgun formation for all offensive plays, be they run or pass. This was primarily done in case a couple of gorgeous coeds were to wander near the field as you were taking a snap… So our team used the shotgun, however, the BGL quarterback took the more conventional approach, and ahem, got right up under the center…

Anyway, once the game started, you forgot about all of the extra-curricular nonsense going on around the field, and played and had fun. The BGL was a good bunch of guys and they played just as hard as we did. We treated each other with respect, both sides had a lot laughs, and no one was injured. After the game, we shook hands and wished each other good luck for the rest of the season.

The final score of that game is lost to history, but let’s just say that I was allowed to continue seeing the future Mrs. R. Some video clips from the game were shown on the evening news, much to the delight of my future father-in-law, and our team went on the win the B-League Intramural Flag Football championship that year.

Last Saturday, the real football players played. Oklahoma was ranked No. 3 coming into the game and listed as a 22 point favorite. We sat up high again, and had a beautiful view of the Flatirons to the south and the mountains to the west. At the start of the game our seats were shaded by the club level seats behind us. Also, we were surrounded on three sides by OU fans.

The guy sitting next to Mrs. R., and clad in OU regalia from head to toe, asked “will it get warm when ‘at sun comes ‘round the stadium?” What I wanted to say was, “Yes, it’s the same sun you have in Oklahoma, and it makes things warm. It’s of the reasons there’s life on this planet, and because of that we get to spend our leisure time enjoying college football.” Instead, I just said “yes” and was met with a skeptical look from Mr. OU.

During timeouts scores from other games are often shown on the scoreboard. At one point the score of the Kentucky- Florida Atlantic game was flashed, and it showed Kentucky to be ahead.

I heard these sounds from Mr. OU No.2 sitting behind us.

“YepKintuckayzzzzzzzpurdygoodnissyeer.”

I had to consult with several linguistics experts, and as best as can be determined, what was actually being said was:

“Yes. The University of Kentucky has a fine football team this season.”

The Buff defense played very well once again, but the offense was having some trouble. The Sooners led 17-7 at the half. I told Mrs. R that the score was closer than I thought would be.

With 2-1/2 minutes gone in the third quarter, Oklahoma scored again, making it 24-7. I told Mrs. R. that is was over, the roof was going to cave on the Buffs, that I’d seen this happen more times than I care to remember. I was quickly chastised as being “Oh ye of little faith. Come on dude, it’s your team, don’t give up.”

She was right of course. Midway though the third quarter, CU kicked a field to make it 24-10, and that’s how the third quarter ended.

Then two amazing things happened. Mrs. R began to transform into a CU football fan before my very eyes. She was, yelling and screaming, and she even sung a couple of bars of the fight song. I started tearing up, and not because the Buffs were making a comeback.

Down on the field, the Buffs suddenly found their running game, and began to move the ball with some authority. With about four minutes left, the Buffs tied it up at 24.

The stadium was rocking. There was cheering, yelling, screaming, and big smiles on all of the Buffs fans.

Oklahoma got the ball back and went three and out. CU returned the ensuing punt to midfield, then calmly drove down to the Sooner 28 yard line and kicked the winning field goal as time expired!

Mrs. R and I screamed, high-fived each other and every CU fan we could reach, the students stormed the field, and it was the greatest afternoon ever at Folsom Field.

And one more thing very important thing folks. One of our readers is having some health issues right now, and will be having surgery week after next. Keep a good thought or two for her…

Buffaloed

Daughter Rogue and I went to the CU vs. Florida State Seminoles game Saturday night. I’m the "skinny" guy in black….

DR was mortified when I asked her to take this picture. She told everyone who walked by “He’s not my Dad!” And “I don’t even know who this guy is. He just asked me to take his picture. What a dork.”

The fun started a couple of hours earlier when DR came over before the game and remarked about my new CU (it’s not yellow, its gold) flag which I now proudly fly every game day, “Nice flag Dad. You’re a major nerd.” Ouch…

I was, however, glad to be upgraded from nerd to dork the closer we got to kickoff.

As we entered the stadium, I overheard a lot of people asking “Dude, what’s a Seminole?” I’m always so proud when the students of my alma mater display their depth of knowledge and an awareness of other cultures…

The Seminoles are Native Americans originally from Florida, with groups now living in both Florida and Oklahoma. They have the distinction of being the only Indian tribe that has never signed a peace treaty with the United States, and are known as the “Unconquered People.”

http://www.seminoletribe.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seminole

We entered the stadium and made our way to our seats near the top of the stadium. DR was very proud of me because I only need to stop twice for oxygen on the climb. I was proud of me too, until I got passed by a 68 year-old grandmother who was heading toward the top row two steps at a time, and not even breathing hard…

DR’s favorite part of a CU game is the “Ralphie Wranglers.” These are the brave young men and women who lead Ralphie onto the field before kickoff at the start of the game and after halftime. It is one of the greatest moments in college football, and not because the wrangler guys are “hot.” Not that I think they are hot, because I have no strong feelings either way, but DR seems to think that the wranglers alone are worth the ticket price.

Oh by the way, Ralphie was recently named the best mascot in college football…

Ralphie is No. 1

When FSU scores, their cheerleaders run through the end zone waving flags that spell N-O-L-E-S. DR suggested that since most people don’t know what a ‘Nole is, they should spell S-E-M-I-S instead… It’s also a good description for some of their offensive linemen.

During the first quarter we got to listen to the saga of Craig and Debbie from the people sitting behind us. It seems that C+D and met at a tailgate before the game and had agreed to meet in the stadium. The conversation went something like this:

“Go find her Craig!” said Debbie’s friend, who we’ll call Susan.

“Where is she?” Craig asked.

“She’s in row 76.” Susan replied.

“Which section?” an exasperated Craig asked.

“Our section. God Craig, you are so lame” Susan said.

You probably remember similar conversations from your high school days. The fact that Susan, Craig and Debbie are all 30-somethings is unfortunate, but pretty damn funny…

Anyway, we got to watch Craig spend most of the first quarter pacing up and down the jam-packed rows of Section 215 searching in vain for Debbie. Craig even called Susan, who was all of four rows from where he was standing, to help him home in on Debbie. Why no one thought to actually call Debbie is unclear…

Later in the game, while the rest of Section 215 was distracted by the action on the field, Susan exclaimed “Oh look, they’re sitting together! Are they holding hands? I think they’re holding hands! Oh my God!”

The CU defense was terrific, giving up only 16 points to the Seminoles, despite having to defend a short field on a couple of occasions. The Buff defense played with heart and abandon, only gave up two big plays, and never quit.

The offense played well between the 30 yard lines but seemed to self-destruct in the red zone. The Buffs do not have much of a running game this year, and finished the night with negative 27 yards rushing.

Generally the FSU fans were classy and respectful. There was, however one notable exception. On a drive in the 4th quarter, as CU was moving the ball with some ease, an FSU fan sitting a couple rows behind us kept yelling at FSU defensive coordinator Mickey Andrews to “Rush 4 Mickey! Come on! You’re so f**king stupid!” FSU was playing a prevent defense and rushing only 3 down linemen. The tactic worked quite well since the drive ended without the Buffs scoring.

I didn’t realize Coach Andrews was such a moron, because when I looked at the scoreboard it said Florida State 16, Colorado 0. I did some high level math (you know, carry the 2, divide by 1) and figured out that for a defense the best you can do is hold the other team to zero points.

I ‘m always amazed at how many coaches are in the stands instead of down on the sidelines on game day…

CU didn’t score until there was 3:38 remaining in the fourth quarter.

Final score: Florida State 16, Colorado 6.

So the score wasn't what I hoped for, but the company couldn't have been better...

A Banked Turn

So I’m at the bank the other day, and there are a few people in line ahead of me, and a few more at the teller windows. There is also a loud racket coming from behind the counter, it was the coin counting machine. Someone was cashing in a large amount of coins…

I know this because it took two tellers to lift the giant plastic fake beer bottle that contained all of the coins. Some guy had been saving his pennies since about 1972. Anyway I finally figured out who the bottle belonged too, since all of the tellers cycled through customers except for one.

This thrifty gent was about 45, pasty-skinned, and quite pleased with himself. When I got to the front of the line he turned halfway toward me and gave me that universal “half-nod, arched eyebrow, chics dig me” look that cool guys give to us un-cool guys.

I got the impression he was gonna take his $37, rent some videos, and go back to his room in the basement of his Mom’s house and watch them. Maybe go a little crazy a grab a pizza and some brewskis too…

Speaking of “chics dig me,” my name appears on page 49 of the August 20, 2007 issue of Sports Illustrated (first column, about halfway down the page). This is of course a lifelong dream of mine. The only problem is that the person they are writing about is not me, but he and I do share the same name. I really have no ethical or moral problem with achieving my dreams vicariously…

Plus, I now have a shot at moving into Mrs. R’s Top 100 (Re: http://srogue.blogspot.com/ from December 28, 2006).

Today I was outside doing some yard work in the backyard. I was home alone, and I had left the garage door open. When I do that, I lock the door from the garage to the house, and keep my keys in the front pocket of my shorts. My truck was parked in the driveway.

Big Mo has a keyless remote that also includes a panic button. It’s a nice feature, especially if some pasty-skinned 45 year old stud is thinking about beating me up in the parking lot at the bank. Sorry, I digress. Anyway, when the panic button is pushed, the horn honks rhythmically, and the lights flash.

So as I was out back and bending over to spray some weeds, I heard someone’s car alarm go off. There was all kinds of noise, a horn honking, etc. It was very annoying, and I was grumbling to myself about “the damn neighbors who don’t pay attention to a f**king thing and just let their car alarms go off and disturb everybody.”

After 3 or 4 minutes, the alarm shut off, and peace returned. By this time I had moved to other end of the backyard, closer to the front gate, and the driveway. I bent over to attack some more weeds, when that damned car alarm went off again.

At this point I am not a happy camper. I also notice that the honking horn sounds very close. Very, very close actually.

I’m thinking I’m just gonna go next door and let the neighbors have a piece of my mind. Not that I can afford to give too many pieces of my mind away, but it seemed like it was warranted in this case.

So I kicked open the gate, doing my best “that’s right, I’m bad,” getting myself all worked-up, when I notice the lights on my truck flashing and the horn rhythmically honking.

I sheepishly pushed the panic twice to stop the racket, and went inside.

So much for breaking into Mrs. R’s top 100…

Baseball, Plumb Bobs and Spoons, Oh My

In the midst of a difficult week at work, Daughter Rouge called and asked if I would like to go to the Rockies/Dodgers game on Saturday. That young lady has excellent timing and I gladly accepted her invitation.

As a youngster growing up in Colorado, I was a Dodgers fan. I’m not exactly sure how that came to be, but it seemed like a good choice. I mean Sandy Koufax, John Roseboro, Don Drysdale, what’s not to like?

In the 70’s it was Steve Garvey and Davey Lopes and Bill Russell and Ron “The Penguin” Cey; I became an even bigger Dodgers fan. The first major league game I ever saw was at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, Dodgers vs. Giants, to watch Fernando Valenzuela pitch. The dastardly (dastardly? Who still uses the word dastardly?) Giants won on a late inning grand slam by Jeffrey (don’t call me Jeff or I will kick your ass), Leonard. Not that I’m bitter or anything…

Anyway…

DR had found some great seats; we were about thirty rows up directly in line with third base. Our seats were right under the edge of the upper deck, so we were thinking that we might have some protection if it were to rain.

The game started nicely, with the Rocks jumping out to an early 5-0 lead. As we were watching the vendors work the stands, DR asked about a guy we called “Frogman.” Frogman was a beer vendor, who had a rubber frog clipped to each ear, wore beer cans for shoes and had a gravelly voice that carried two sections over. He seemed to be everywhere, we even saw him a couple of times at spring training games in Tucson. I told DR that I hadn’t seen him in a while.

Her reply? “Maybe he croaked…”

Along about the 5th inning, it began to rain. Wet sunflower seed shells were raining down from the upper deck. It was quite unpleasant for awhile, but the ushers finally got the problem under control.

It’s a good thing too, because sitting in the row in front of us were three couples, who had also received the shower. The ringleader of the group, fueled by the combustible combination of alcohol and testosterone, told one of the ushers “If you can’t get it stopped, then there are three guys here all over 200 lbs who will go up there and take of things.”

There’s a couple of things that are important to note about Mr. Testosterone and his buddies; they all had the number 4 as the first number of their age, and their 200 plus pounds were packed onto frames about 6” shorter than my 200 plus pounds are. Maybe their plan was to go up and bowl over the sunflower seed criminals…

After the game and the twelve mile walk to our car we started negotiating the streets of downtown. I got lost, no surprise there, refused to stop and ask for directions, again, no surprise. While waiting at a stoplight, a group of about 10 or so twenty-something dressed to the hilt young ladies crossed the street in front of us. They appeared to have had a couple of drinks and were likely on the way to the next bar.

“Oh my” came the remark from DR.

I think the ladies were from the I Phelta Thi sorority…

Anyway…

While stopped at the light at Colfax and 14th Street, DR exclaimed, “Look Daddy, that guy has a giant carrot in his head!”

“What? Huh?” came my thoughtful reply.

I looked over and saw this piece of “art,” which is essentially a hollowed out marble profile of a man’s head, unfolded, with a giant plumb bob hanging in the middle of the fold.

Wikipedia defines a plumb bob as “a weight with a pointed tip on the bottom that is suspended from a string and used as a vertical reference line.” These devices were quite handy in the old days (10 years ago) for folks involved in the construction business. Today they have mostly been replaced by electronic measuring devices.

I tried to explain this to DR, but she didn’t understand why you would need a plumb bob thingy when you could just use a laser. I felt the ol’ generation gap get a little wider right then…

Imagine a well-written transition paragraph right here…..

I have noticed that a lot of my mishaps seem to involve food. I’m not sure what that means, or am I sure I want to commit the $$ and time in therapy to figure it out. I guess it’s just one of those things that make me colorful…

Speaking of color, I became a little more colorful last night. DR and I went to the Coldstone Creamery for some ice cream. This is a very dangerous place, and I highly recommend it.

http://www.coldstonecreamery.com/

On the way out of the store in light rain, the lid came off of my ice cream, and my hand became covered in about $14 worth of a green-brown mix of mint-chocolate chip-fudge-brownie ice cream. Apparently the person (me) who put the lid on my cup needs some remedial training.

So now I’m standing in a parking lot in a rainstorm, frantically licking ice cream off of my hand while DR is doubled over in laughter. Actually, I think she was tripled over.

But wait there’s more…

On the drive home, DR was showing off one of the things she learned at college. As we were driving she was trying to get her plastic ice cream spoon to stick to her nose. She was successful, and kept the spoon stuck to her nose for 17 seconds, while the car was moving. Apparently this is some kind of a record, and she has now qualified for the Olympic Trials next spring.

I think I need a vacation…

Health Food

It takes a lot of work to keep my body in shape (round). It’s something I take a great deal of pride in. It requires dedication, constant vigilance, a willingness to sacrifice, and a nose for good food…

About 50 or so years ago, my father was in the process of being discharged from the Army, after spending a couple of years in the tropical outpost of Fairbanks, Alaska. He was spending his last few weeks as a G.I. stationed at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs.

One evening his buddy suggested they go out for a burger, he knew a great place not too far from the base. They ended up at Conway’s Red Top, home of the Giant Hamburger. Oh man, am I ever glad about that…

For about half of a century now, my family has made pilgrimages to Colorado Spring to “go get a Red Top.”

Conway’s Red Top

Recently, Mrs. R and I decided to exactly that, and headed south for a burger. Now these Red Tops really are giant, probably about 8 inches or so diameter (the burgers may actually be a little smaller than that, since I have been accused of having some difficulty in estimating sizes…) and they are delicious. They are made fresh right at the restaurant, it’s not fast food, and it is definitely worth the wait. I like mine with fries and a chocolate milkshake. Give them a try sometime.

After lunch we headed to Manitou Springs. There are some funky shops there, many of which are housed in some beautiful historic buildings. I think a lot of the businesses are run by hippies who couldn’t afford the rent in Boulder, or Berkeley, for that matter. It’s worth the walk around town just to appreciate the architecture.

On our way back, we were headed east, toward downtown, when like an oasis in desert, a Dunkin’ Donuts store appeared on my left. Mrs. R screamed out “IT’S DUNKIN’DONUTS!” and we knew what we had to do, it was something that we had been training for for a long time.

I slammed on the brakes and put Big Mo into a hard left turn, doing a 180 in the middle of the street and power sliding perfectly into a perfect parallel parking spot in front of the store, facing west. We synchronized our watches, then I looked at Mrs. R and shouted “GO! GO! GO!”

The operation unfolded with military precision…

Mrs. R jumped out of Mo, fell to the ground and feigned a sprained ankle. This diverted the attention of about 10 of the dozen or so of Colorado Springs finest who were waiting in line. When she demurely batted her eyes, grabbed her ankle, and said “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” I knew we would succeed. The chivalrous officers literally fell all over themselves trying to help the damsel in distress.

As all of this was unfolding, I ran up to the store, put a head fake on one officer, used my ol’ drop step move on the other, and found myself at the front of the line where I promptly purchased 14 dozen donuts, and a pint of skim milk.

Mrs. R extricated herself from the pile of 10, I ran back to Mo with the goods, and we high-tailed it home. Actually, at my age, it’s more like “low-tailing…”

And after fourteen dozen donuts, well, let’s just say my wagon is draggin’.

Changes

There have been some changes at Casa del Rogue recently, the most significant being that Daughter Rogue has moved out and is sharing an apartment with a friend. This means that Mrs. R and I are now “Empty-Nesters-In-Training.”

DR’s move went relatively smooth, but it did involve lots of switching of vehicles to make things easier. There was the usual chaos and semi-panic of moving, throwing stuff into boxes, tossing clean and dirty clothes in laundry baskets, etc.

Most of the move occurred over a weekend, but the work week began before DR was completely moved in. She asked to borrow my truck, “Big Mo,” to finish up. Since my choices at that point were going to work or helping move a couch into a third floor apartment, I chose work and gladly let DR take the truck. She tricked some friends into helping her, and the couch was successfully moved with no injuries to humans or furniture or vehicles.

By Friday things had settled down, and we all had our original vehicles back. I went out that afternoon to run an errand. For some reason, I looked in the back seat of Big Mo. I saw something I had never seen before, at least not in any vehicle I ever owned…

Lying on the seat was what appeared to be an article of women’s underwear that begins with “t” and rhymes with “wrong.” “Hmmmm” I thought, “how in the hell did that get back there?”

Thinking it may have fallen out of a laundry basket during the move, I asked DR about it. She vehemently denied that it was hers. Something along the lines of “Daddy, I would never wear one of those things!”

Thinking it might belong to Mrs. R, (although being somewhat confused about how it might have gotten there) I asked her about it. She also vehemently denied it was hers. Something along the lines of “Not even in your dreams mister! It’s your truck, and you’re asking me how a pair of women’s underwear got in your truck? I think you owe me an explanation!”

The advantage to sleeping on the couch is that it's in the coolest room in the house...