Ubi, o ubi...

Muggie used to always give me black sox for my birthday or for Christmas or any other time she thought she needed to get something for me. Since I was in the monastery, this was a great gift. Something practical that I needed and could actually use, and it was not going to break her budget.

I know last year I suggested that the Dodd clan not feel obligated to gift everyone within a thousand generations (although I do appreciate those of you who chose to ignore me and gave me something anyway), but I thought of Mamma and the sox today. Or of underwear -- see how old I am now? Children dread underwear as the ultimate bad Christmas gift, the modern equivalent of a lump of coal or bundle of sticks for the Naughty. But when you get older, underwear becomes a good gift.

I'm not talking anything fancy, of course. I'll leave that for spouses to shock one another with on occasion. I am talking about WARM underwear for those of us in northern climes. Last week when we were heading out into the cold to do our part for the Holiday Train food pantry project, Tom gave me a pack of long underwear he had bought and never opened. (Only with something like underwear could someone tall and skinny like Tom have something that might fit a person like me -- short and stout like the little teapot in the song.) I was a bit reluctant, because I had always thought long underwear would be bulky and uncomfortable, but it was great. Next year I plan to buy some for my feet!

Anyway, I am not angling for someone to go out and buy me long underwear. But for those of the clan who live in the cold and have not yet discovered the possibilities, this old coot is passing it along.
--------------------
The title of this post is taken from a terrible Latin student pun: Ubi, o ubi est mihi sububi. Ubi = where; est = is; mihi = my; sub=under. Put it all together: Where, oh where is my under where?

I told you it was bad.