A friend of mine has just experienced the defining moment of any new live-in relationship - the one where your man asks where his pants are. This wasn't a bad man, a sexist creep, a cad. As a rule, he could be found seeking her opinion on the new Philip Roth, the Scissor Sisters, or the merits of a restaurant they had just visited. Now, suddenly, surreally, he was asking her about his pants. Where were they? What had she done with them? Could he have a fresh pair, please?
I teach at Lehigh University in eastern Pennsylvania. I teach and do research on Postcolonial/Global literature and film, Modernism, African American literature, and the Digital Humanities.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
She knows where the pants are
Really, this is all about the clever quips it inspires:
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1 comment:
Another reason why my mother rails against the "living together" syndrome-you are expected to be the underwear keeper without the institutional benefits of marriage! I'm just kidding (I think ;).
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