Uncle Smedley

I loved growing up with two older brothers. I idolized them. I also had to grow a thick skin from the endless teasing and wrestling moves that took place on my parent’s king-sized bed while watching the St. Louis Sunday show, “Wrestling at the Chase.”

I learned the beauty of the word, “uncle.” I can promise you that this uncle was not a relative, but a cry for freedom from one of my brother’s leg-lock.

Trust me, there obviously wasn’t a lot to do in St. Louis on a Sunday in the winter except to watch shows like this and try to recreate the overexaggerated wrestling move especially since I was outnumbered by boys.

When someone had a severe lock or hold on the other, they had to cry, “uncle” to get released, unless you come from ridiculously creative brothers who would make you say “Uncle Smedley.”  As in, “Uncle Smedley went to the grocery store to buy milk, cheese”…on and on. We thought we were the silliest bunch of kids that had more inside jokes than any other family.

Another favorite was the dreaded wedgie when my brothers would pull the other’s “tightie whities” so far up their rump, one of them was literally crying “uncle” with tears streaming down their faces.

Immediately, I’m reminded of the fact that I still have thong underwear in my dresser drawers, even though I refuse to endure the feeling of a wedgie all day.

Are thongs the wedgies of my younger days?

I finally realized after crying “uncle” to myself several times, that the cause of the problem was THE thong underwear.

Baaaa-bye thongs…hello granny panties.

It is a good thing that my first mate likes my personality because panty lines are trendy at my house, along with the Laura Ashley 3-pack briefs from Marshall’s.

Who would have thunk it? I went from roughhousing with my brothers as a little kid to looking precisely like the wrestlers in their underwear briefs, but mine have flowers.