On Wednesday I blogged about my 10 year-old blossoming pride and joy, Avery. In case you missed it, you can read up here. Basically, the gist of the story is that she’s growing up. Rapidly. Gone are the teeny tiny buns, andin their place slightly bigger tiny buns. She’s a burgeoning young lady in a fraction of the body and it makes me a little sick each and every day.

Sharing a home with a fellow female I knew there would be eventual complications such as my favorite lip gloss being jacked from my purse, clouds of my coveted Vera Wang Princess wafting from her room. But I was in no way prepared for what happened yesterday morning.

And now Ifeel compelled to divulge itto you folks. Gah, this is humiliating.

Okay. Let me set the scene.

I get out of the shower and run gracefully (obvi) to my underwear drawer where I am shocked to discover I am lacking a pair to throw on. I mean, I’m neeeever out of clean laundry. Nope. Wouldn’t happen on my watch. No sir-ree. Just ask my hubby. No, wait. Don’t. He gets a little chafed when he’sreminded about the times he has to wear swim trunks as underpants.

Which leads me back to my story.

I’m searching for underwear, unsuccessfully, and remember that there’s a clean load of clothes in the dryer. I hotfoot it out to the laundry room, throw open the dryer door and briskly search for some undies. Finding some I step in one leg hole and attempt to slip my foot in the other when I stop and stare dumbfounded at my feet…and the underpants stretched across my ankles like a rubberband ready to snap.

What the $@#&????

I’m guessing you’re picking up on what happened a whole lot faster than I did. I mean, I just stared. Stared at the debacle formingat my feet.

My daughter’s underpants.

Seriously.

Folks, she’s 10 years old. Which means she has tiny underpants with smiling puppies. And peace signs. And Justice logos.

And I just stood there trying to figure out why my underpants were rebelling against me.Why they wouldn’t slip up like the good people at Hanes had designed them to do. Those tiny little underpants.

Oy vey.

So not only am I delusional and incapable of visually recognizing my own pair of underpants I’mlacking the mental capacity to reason out why a 10 year-olds underpants won’t fit.

Again.

Oy vey.

It was an ugly scene. One I’m likely not toforget for some time. I just keep thinking of how frightened those poor little underpants probably were.

Pray for me.

Mindy