by Monk 28 Sept 2010
My first would-be best selling CD , was called My Wife’s Pants, and featured a pair of same on the cover.
Here is the track list.
About Mrs Monk’s infatuation with Brian Perkins, newscaster on the BBC.
About Mrs Monk’s annoying habit of telling me where to park the car, as if I were incapable of making up my own mind.
About a man’s need to correct his wife when she has made a simple mistake in the kitchen.
This need is in the male DNA, and in the underpants.
In order to illustrate this article about My Wife’s Pants, I have tried to find the original artwork. I suspect that it has been disposed of behind my back, because I cannot find it.
Underpants have become an issue in the Monk Household because Mrs Monk has started wearing my underwear; this would appear to be a vicarious interest in men’s underwear, but it has now become a problem because I am running short of shorts, and of what is after all rightfully mine, and I have no reciprocal interest in what is hers, in the underwear department.
Each morning this week I have found it necessary to spend time seeking out underwear belonging to me.
It was not a task I relished, but one that I had nevertheless contemplated for ..... 10 years.
I decided to enter the unexplored chest of drawers where hitherto, I dared not venture. While Mrs Monk was swimming at the gym, I delved into the unknown and the unexplained mystery of Mrs Monk’s smalls. I was immediately gratified to find long lost missing tennis socks, but then I started to count the pairs of ladies knickers. When I got into the third drawer, I decided I needed a large bag into which to put the knickers. A large plastic garbage bag seemed to fit the bill. I started to count and when I counted fifty pairs of knickers I decided I needed a pen and paper to keep track of my counting.
I then decided I needed another bag into which I would place the odd brassiere.
This is work in progress, but at the point of my exhaustion, I had placed 165 pairs of knickers into one sack. If I were to swing this sack at a grown man, it would render him unconscious.
In a second sack of bras, I had enough metal to wire a small bungalow.
I managed to pair three pairs of tennis socks and none of my underwear came to light.
I believe all six pairs are in the wash.
Here are some links to related matters
Brian aka Naked Monks
Soup awaiting consent of actor