To The Mailbox? Heck Yea!

So last night there was absolutely nothing on TV. In further evidence of that fact, I submit to you that Chizz & I watched "How I Met Your Mother" with Snake. Snake likes the show quite a bit. There are some cute moments, but I wouldn't set my DVR for it. However last night's episode was particularly relevant on several levels for our family.

The show centered on one of the characters who was out of work and apparently spent quite a bit of time looking for a job. As sometimes happens while participating in this kind of search, his self-confidence was taking a beating after so many rejections. The other characters commented on the fact that his "underpants radius" was becoming alarmingly large. The "underpants radius" is the radius you personally deem acceptable to walk around in your underwear. For this character, it started out just to the couch to watch television all day when he should have been job searching, then it grew to the front door to pick up the newspaper, then to the mailbox to pick up the mail and finally to a local fast food joint to eat a meal. (Yuck!) One night when they were all at their local watering hole hangout place, they decided to get burgers and the out of work character starts talking about the best burger he ever had in NY city. Apparently several years ago, when he was new to the city and didn't really know his way around he stumbled on a small hole in the wall place and had the best hamburger ever. Since that time, he has been searching for the hamburger place and has never been able to find it. The group decides they will go with him and try and find the place. They search high and low, and with Regis Philbin (because that always happens in NY) and finally they find the place and all is right with the world.

I have my own "hamburger" story. But it is not about hamburgers. And it doesn't take place in NY city. And Regis Philbin is nowhere in it. And it is not my story. But other than that it is EXACTLY the same. It is about chicken, German chicken. Hendl. Many, many, many, many years ago, Chizz went on a business trip to Germany with some work colleagues who also happened to be pretty good friends of his. As luck would have it, they went during Oktoberfest. They managed to go to quite a few tents and drink beer, eat, and have a great time. He came back and told me about this chicken, spit roasted, and it was the BEST chicken he had ever had in his entire life. He talked about that chicken for weeks. He STILL talks about that chicken. He dreamt about that chicken. So when we went back to Germany ourselves, several years later, he made me eat chicken at practically every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner, in a search to find the elusive Oktoberfest Hendl. But it was not to be. And he has been back several times and still can't find the chicken. We have even searched for the German chicken in Belgium and Austria, but no luck. I suspect it is really not the chicken itself, but what it represented. Four young guys, no kids, in Germany drinking beer, eating chicken, freedom. Yes, symbolism because I am deep that way. (Shut up, I am too deep!)

This morning, Snake came out of his room wearing his t-shirt and boxers only, looking for a clean pair of jeans in the laundry room. I raised my eyebrows a little, because Snake very rarely wanders around in his boxers. His response? "My underpants radius is to the mailbox and back." Ha! I told him I doubt it. I mean, I love his skinny little white legs but he rarely goes around showing them off in private, let alone in public. He glared back at me, knowing I spoke the truth.

So, if you happened to be driving by our house this morning at about 7:13 a.m. that wasn't some kind of rare albino deer running across our driveway in dark blue striped boxers. That was my son, Snake. I am so proud.