I see London, I see France

...I see your well-worn underpants!  And worse!

One of the things I will miss someday about going to work is the endless vista that awaits my eyes on the drive to the office.  I've always liked the early shift, so I leave the Lazy 'C' Ranch by 0645, the latest.  I love wintertime because there is no thrill like driving to work in the dark.  

I know, right? 

But there is sort of a pact, unwritten for sure, but nonetheless valid, among early morning drivers and people who are outside getting their newspaper, bringing in the cat, letting out the cat, taking the garbage can out to the curb, and I don't know what-all else, but folks are out there en deshabille as they say in Marseilles.  I mean, yeah, they have clothes on, but only technically.  

In summer, you see a lot of what people sleep in, and this is information I don't need to download while driving.  Whatever people have on when they stumble down the stairs to meet the day, as Kris Kristofferson put it, is what they tend to have on when they dart outside for the paper, the cat, or the trash truck. But I am prepared to report that in warm weather, most Americans over the age of 40 sleep in a tank top and boxer shorts.   That includes a significant portion of men.   

In wintertime, when old Jack Frost runs his chilly fingers down our spines and up our thighs (now there's a visual for you!) people will don the old fleecy robe before stepping out to take care of business.  I suggest to all apparel manufacturers that they are missing out on a sure profit leader by not marketing custom-made prizefighter robes.  What man wouldn't feel more macho when wearing a silk robe with his name and nickname or home town emblazoned on the back, just like in all the Rocky movies?

As my gift to capitalists, this is my gift idea for the hard-to-think-of-what-in-blazes-he wants guy on everyone's list. Imagine the pride on the faces of Bob "The King of Dual-Entry Accounting" Schottlemeyer, or Lou "Big Noise" Hamilton when they unwrap their stylish new wraps!  

And there could be one with a lone star on it, and made of silk of bluebonnet blue, with the words Rick "OOOOOPS!" Perry on the back. 

Ooops, I did it again.

There's a pact, I was starting to say, among those flitting about the sidewalks, porches and driveways, and those of us driving to work with our coffee mugs and our Morning Edition from NPR.  The pact says, we might see you, and we for sure see you when the winds blow open your frilly peignoir and we see half of your epidermis and a peek at your Crêpes Suzette, but we won't mention it later when we see you in the dog food aisle at the Shop 'n' Go.

There might be snickering, however.