The G - Force

Jennifer in New York, this one's for you.

Everyone is always telling me I should write a book. My response? No one would believe it, and this is why. There are many entertaining facets to having a variety of people take care of me. For example, the following is a true story. None of the names have been changed to protect the monumentally stupid.

Once upon a time I had a caregiver. Let's call her Nicole. Now Nicole should not be confused with the other caregiver I had named Nicky. One morning the Harris county sheriff's department paid us a surprise visit at the house to arrest Nicky. But that's a different story.

Nicole was a good caregiver, but was overtly flirtatious with me from the start. You know the type. Everything I said was incredibly funny (well it is), and a little bit too touchy-feely. Plus every week she had a new hard luck story that she needed money for. Alarm bells are ringing Willy!

Now Nicole always had a book to read at lunch. One day Mom is at the store. Nicole and I are having lunch. She holds the book up so I can see the cover and asks me if I've ever read the book before.

The book? "Penthouse Forum Letters". Warning! Warning! Danger Will Robinson! My answer? No. She told me I should, they're really good. Alrighty then boys and girls, are you ready? Put on your dancing shoes because that was just the warm-up story.

One day my caregiver Maria is doing my laundry. She pulls out an article of clothing from the dryer. She holds it up with both hands for my mom to see.

Maria: "Miss Viki?" She asked with a very shocked look on her face.

Mom: "Where did you get that!?" She asked even more shocked than Maria was.

Maria: "It was in David's laundry." She says starting to laugh.

Mom: "Well it certainly isn't mine!" She says also starting to laugh. "David!! Come here! I have a question for you."

I roll into the kitchen. Maria is holding up a women's black silk G-string (that's a thong for those of you who are not strippers) with a small rose embroidered on the front. Both of them are looking at me and semi laughing. My reaction?

Me: "Hey you found'em. Thank-you Maria, I've been looking for that damn thing everywhere. You didn't happen to find my matching garter belt and fishnet stockings did you?"

Mom (not amused): "She found them in your laundry. How did they get there?"

Me: "How should I know? They're not mine." (Sound familiar? Genetics)

My answer was met with blank stares and cold silence. Obviously I was going to have to come up with a more satisfying answer.

Me: "OK you got me. This whole quadriplegic thing has been an elaborate ruse. I'm actually a world famous male stripper. I've just been too embarrassed to tell you all these years."

Mom (now even less amused): "Well then who do they belong to?"

Now that's a good question. Because not only was there a question of who do they belong to, but also how they got there? We decided we should find ownership first. After that the how should follow.

We quickly eliminated 10 possible suspects, Maria, myself, my mom, and the cast from Gilligan's Island. That left 4 possible suspects, caregiver#1, caregiver#2, Nicole, and Super Genius Wile E Coyote. Oh, wait. Make that 3 suspects.

Now we came to another dilemma. How do you hold up a black silk G-string and ask someone, "Is this yours?" Especially if it's not theirs. Not wanting to waste any time, I immediately went to my room and got my Official Scooby-Doo "Who Done It" handbook.

Solution? Prominently display them on a hanger in the laundry room all by their lonesome. Then ask each of my suspects if they've recently lost something while here. Regardless of the answer, I send them to laundry room, come back, and ask them if they recognized anything. Also have them bring me back some Scooby Snacks.

Of course caregiver#1 and caregiver#2 came back with a variety of humorous comments. Both of them have grown children, and both will admit that they no longer have the body type to wear such a thing. They also had the same questions we had. Who? And more importantly, How?

Finally, it's Nicole time. Mom decides to go to the store and let me handle this one. Nicole goes to the laundry room and returns. "Nope" she says, not hers either. Okaaayy. Very interesting. But instead of asking the standard who and how questions, she wants to know if they have been hanging up there all week, and has everybody else seen them.

Soon as Nicole leaves for the day Mom is in my room to see what I found out. I told her that Nicole claimed that they weren't hers.

Mom: "Really? Well I tell you what, they're not there anymore."

Bingo! Ladies and gentlemen we have our winner! The next day when Nicole returned to the scene of the crime, I had a few questions. She confessed that they were hers, but she didn't know how they ended up in my laundry basket, and that was the end of that.

Almost. Tell us Dave, is there a surprise in that box of Cracker Jack's? Why yes there is.

She told me she didn't know they were missing because she has lots of them. G-strings, (I mean thongs) are all she wears. OK, no stripper jokes! OK, maybe just one or two. She must not be doing too well as a stripper if she has to moonlight as a caregiver for me. Tell us Dave, how long has that brass pole been in your bedroom?

The Nicole and her G-string situation was never satisfactorily resolved. We did part our separate ways several months later. I'm sure it was for a reason that did not involve women's lingerie.

The G-string in the laundry basket is now running joke. Whenever one of my caregivers does something that you just have to shake your head at in disbelief, we always say, "Well at least she didn't leave her G-string in Dave's laundry basket!"

God bless & blue skies, David