Boomer Bloomers

Little Mermaid gourd

I don’t know if this comes part-and-parcel with aging alone, but my grooming has slowly changed over time so that I’m often horrified at the clothes I choose to wear; for comfort more than looks; threadbare, old food stains I could never get out; you know…you’ve got SOMETHING that looks like that, surely.  Perhaps I’m just lucky to have more than others.

However, more and more I’m considering how I would look if suddenly discovered dead,  incapacitated or simply wandering aimlessly.  I’ve been mentally designing my own “If Found Dead” card to carry on my person and post inside my trailer.  You know, who to call; what to do with my dog; burial preferences.  I’d just as soon be scattered along with the Viennese coffee spoon from Sis, the fuchsia crocheted scarf from Lee, and French Toast Sticks.

Higuera de P.R.; 14" length

Now if you’re married or otherwise partnered, you might not worry about how you’re found because hopefully someone you love will find and clean you up first.  But if there’s no one to pull up your pants or pick out the food from between teeth…, what you get is a recent headline from Portland, Oregon:

A man was found dead in a van; a strong smell was reported.  

See?  Someone homeless, no doubt, another good reason for my card.

Since I’ve been feeling better about things in general the past 6 months or so, I often look at something I’m about to put on and wonder, “Is this what you’d like some great looking doctor to see you wearing?”  I could care less about the mortician.

Pink dolphin;
higuera de P.R.

Kidding aside, if I got hit by my proverbial bus, do I have on nice clean undies, like we were warned as kids?  Or am I wearing the faded bloomers given to me by pal Lizette; too large for her, she couldn’t return the opened package, so she donated three pastel beauties your grandmother wouldn’t wear.  What probably happened was her partner had the same reaction as mine at the time:  pure horror.  And I wonder why he left.

Boomer Bloomers, for emergencies, I rationalize.  Earlier today, stepping out of the public shower here in the park (since my hot water heater broke the other day; fortunately their showers are sparkling clean, and free), came the decision of whether to reach for the gym shorts or t-shirt.

“If I drop dead, or if there’s a fire (in the shower) and had to flee, which would I prefer:  to appear in public with flabby thighs in Lizette’s panties,or droopy tits?”

I reached for the shorts, since I just can’t burn those perfectly good panties yet.