Our visit to Bangkok started well enough. Arriving in the early evening, we decided to take a trip to the latest fad location, Asiatique on the river.
Panasonic GX1 with Summilux 25mm lens at F1.5, ISO 1000. At night, from a moving boat.
It’s a collection of restaurants and shops, laid out in a series of zones. The shops sell clothing and crafts and would be a good place for a tourist visit. All pleasant enough, and we sat down for some food by which time she who must be obeyed was feeling a little queasy. By the time we had finished with our food (and she hadn’t finished it, always a bad sign), she was feeling unwell so we made the trek back to the hotel; deferring my plan to buy new underpants until the following day.
Off to bed, prior to which I washed my smelly smalls and hung them to dry on the balcony in the hope they would be dry and crispy by the morning.
I was not to find out, because by 0400, my wife had spend some considerable time on the toilet, was in some pain, and requesting a trip to hospital. I had three choices: damp underpants, going commando, or a pair of stretchy pink panties which looked like they could do me some damage if I tried to wear them.
With much giggling from my apparently sickly wife, I pulled them on. No obvious storage space for my gentleman’s collectibles, tight in several areas, and a tendency to make my rear end look pert; although that is not how she who must be obeyed described it. Quickly covering the pinkness with jeans, it was off to the hospital for an hour or so where she who must be obeyed was diagnosed with having more gas than is usual (I could have told them that), was prescribed a mountain of pills and presented with a fat bill which I was pleased to find out will be reimbursed by her employer. The culprit was most likely some local mussels she had eaten the previous day. I sail on the Gulf of Thailand, I fall into the Gulf of Thailand, I have seen what’s in it. Nothing would persuade me to eat anything which has spent its life filter-feeding the Gulf of Thailand. But my wife doesn’t care, and sometimes she pays the price.
All the time she was being attended to, I sat nervously in the emergency room, being careful not o look sickly, walk into any walls or pass out; I could not afford to remove my trousers (so I couldn’t go for a pee either).
Finally we were back in our room and I could dispense with the physically and mentally straining apparel. What a relief. By the following morning my underwear was dry and I was able to take us home to the safety of my underwear drawer.
Today things were back to normal and I was suitably dressed to be run over by a bus; mother would have been proud.
Comments 🔗
2012-09-15| Eric saysSpike:
Buahahaha! You have quite the gift for writing. I never thought I would enjoy reading about another man’s collectibles, but somehow, you made me glad I did. :)
2012-09-15| Jan saysif you were considering an occassion when a chaps undercarriage being covered by pink and frilly knickers would be acceptable I suspect a Bangcok A&E at 0400 would be the pretty high on the list
2012-09-16| biggrtiggr saysSuggest you get a smaller arse or a larger wife………. I can fit comfortably into mine, though my collection is quite small
2012-09-16| Grant saysA small collection of wives is more than enough….