When I was first married, money was scarce, so it became a Friday night ritual for my husband and me to go to the grocery store and stop for hamburgers. It wasn't too costly, but we enjoyed it and it was our only night out. On one particular Friday night as we were driving, I noticed my husband, Mason, sort of twitch. It was quick so I thought very little of it. We hadn't traveled very far when he, again, made the same twitch. It was like a jerking motion. I ignored that, too, until I noticed he was squirming in his seat. This time he had my attention. I kept quiet as I tried to figure out what was happening. He continued to squirm and then began to scratch - - just a little at first, but the scratching quickly escalated. The affected area seemed to be in the belly, groin, and backside. Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I asked what was wrong.
He didn't answer but continued to scratch and mumble under his breath. I so much wanted to laugh but reconsidered when I saw the look on his face. The squirming, twitching and itching reached a fever pitch when he seemed to lose all control. He finally yelled at me, "Jeanne, what the hell have you done to my underwear?" I was dumbstruck. What did he mean? He acted like a man possessed. The shopping center was fast approaching and he seemed to be on a mission to get to it. I believed that if he didn't stop the infernal scratching/twitching, we were going to have a wreck. He continued to yell at me - - "What did you do? What did you do?" I hadn't done anything and I became convinced that this man, this love of my life, had completely lost his mind.
It was at this point that he made a hard left turn into the shopping center. He drove through the lot with a vengeance where the road dead ended into a large bank of trees. He slammed on the brakes, throwing me forward. He jumped from the car and ran toward the trees. It was then that I was free to laugh openly. The laughter died suddenly when I saw him tearing at his clothes. He was no longer wearing his pants!! Just moments later I was stunned to see he was no longer wearing his underwear! He was as naked as the day he was born and he was scratching himself like a dog crazed with fleas. I dared not say anything, but I knew we were going to jail if any of the police who patrolled the lot caught sight of my naked husband. Suddenly, I lost sight of him as he ventured further into the bank of trees. I couldn't see him but I certainly could hear him. Oh my, could I hear him!
He was gone for no more than 15 minutes but it seemed like an eternity. At long last, he again came into view. He was wearing his slacks but I saw that the little bundle he had in his hand could only be his underwear! His face was set in an expression I'd never seen before or since. He got in the car, glared at me, and with one quick motion ripped open the front of his pants for me to see! There was an ugly, ugly rash covering every inch of flesh that the underwear had touched. There were also many blood-streaked marks where his nails had dug into his flesh. I dared not speak. I just looked.
He held his underwear in the air and asked if I noticed anything. Gee, I didn't see anything. I shook my head slowly back and forth. He just exploded - - "Do you know what is in these underwear? Do you have any idea what you have done?" I continued to move my head back and forth as if it was on a pivot. I thought and thought about that load of clothes and then, with a flash of insight, it hit me! "Oh, I know. I washed your underwear with some curtains." (Like I said, I was a relatively new wife and had never done laundry at home because my mother sent it out. I didn't know about sorting. I may have even washed the rugs with the sheets, for all I knew.)
Had his eyes been lasers, I would have been blinded. He was so angry. It was then that he said, "Do you know that those curtains are fiberglass?!!" I shrugged and said "So?" That one little word was the final straw, I supposed. With that, he started a tirade that lasted for hours. How was I supposed to know that fiberglass really meant glass! Geesh!!
We didn't get groceries that night. We didn't have a burger, either. Our only stop was to the dumpster where he threw his underwear. Upon our arrival home, I made myself scarce. I read a book and tried not to think of the evening's events. I believe things would have been fine if only, if only, he hadn't suddenly appeared before me naked and demanded that I find some kind of medication to put on "his area." Oh, how I tried to choke back the laughter as I looked at that raw, red welts. It was impossible and when my laughter started, I could not stop.
I don't recall how this story ended. I suppose in a way it continues even now. Mason gave reminders of the event repetitively over the 35 years of our marriage and now I've told you the story. So. . . the tale still continues.
