'Do you have anything for the laundry?' I yell from the next room.
'Not sure', he says. 'Oh yes, my panties on the floor.'
OMG. Please don't call them panties!
Because for me, that's just weird. I know its just one of those lost in translation French to English things, but still. Briefs are les slips, which already confuse me because for me, a slip is something satiny or silky and what you wear to bed or under a dress for a bit more coverage. And panties are reserved for my underwear that are flowery, frilly, or barely there undies. So when he looks at his briefs or boxers and says 'my panties' my Canadian brain can't deal. Little sparks come out of my ears.
Over the years, we've had many incidents where language has been the cause of laughter and shock. Here are some highlights:
He was telling me a story where he was really pissed and was about to go full on postal (as in the postal workers who go crazy and sadly shoot up everyone in their place of work).
Instead, he said, 'If he keeps this up, I'm going to full frontal!
Um, as your wife, I really hope not.
Then another lovely moment where my love was trying to encourage me with some assignment during grad school and he said proudly, 'You got it! You can do this! Knock yourself up!!!!!'
Hmmm....how would that even work?
Me too, I have said some silly things. I once spoke proudly with a long comment when his father turned the conversation to democracy, only to learn he had said 'des mots croisés' (crosswords). Yikes! I wanted to hide under the table with my glass of wine and drink to my idiocy.
Also to my love's amusement, I vous everyone. Including him. Including my dog. I fear tu-ing someone I should vous. But I'm getting a better at this. I don't vous the dog any more. And boy is Charlie offended!
So call them boxers or briefs, but not panties, please.