Mysterious. Fuglier than a “woman priest’s” vestments. Supposedly won’t melt or catch fire or cause some serious athlete’s crotch. It induces a mixture of laughter, pity, and bewilderment. When God saw what Joseph Smith did thar, there was a mighty clap in the air, a huge sigh, and suddenly a new word entered the tender young American lexicon: facepalm.
Secret, or sacred? Does it matter? Its intensely private, but people will still feel you up to see if you’re a worthy Mormon gal or guy. No really. This poor little fish eating Catholic got the Mormon feel up the last time she went to a Mormon service…corporate meeting…thing…whatever- and that was the last time she ever felt the compulsion to enter another one of those whitewashed boring places of banality.
Did I say banality? Oh, yes, I most certainly did. Cotton Candy has more intellectual honesty and better nutrition to boot.
But the underwear…the hideous, uncomfortable underwear. Its intensely private, if only because its the only way to avoid the question: “Wait. You wear underwear under your underwear…and it is sacred/secret?” Of course, because its kept so loudly secret us horrible oppressors can do nothing but think of Mormon underwear, dream of Mormon underwear, scheme of unsexy Star Trek garment Mormon Underwear.
Actually, no. Mormon underwear doesn’t often cross my mind. If you’d like to wear magical Mormon Underwear, well, okay, have fun with that. You won’t see me stealing that…thing…in the middle of the night.
However, Mormon Underwear does cross my mind when its right there. You see, there are many hazards for a Mormon trying to maintain the sanctity/secrecy of their Mormon Undies from the rest of the family during laundry time. Especially when one member of the family is a mildly self-educated Catholic, who thinks both recent Popes are amazing in their own ways, and can’t shut up about the new Mass translation. (FINALLY!)
I don’t know if my Mother still has sex with my so-not-Mormon Father (and, for the love of all that is sanitary and holy, I’d rather not know) but I do wonder how that plays out. Do Mormons allow for a dispensation for the shedding of ye olde holy drawers for a session of love-making, and do they even use the word dispensation? If not, when the moment is right and things are hot and heavy, does the lady take a swan dive to the nearest closet so that she can reveal her body (apparently not as valued as the underwear) and satisfy her desires? These are answers I’d rather not know, other than in the most general sense. At the moment I’m picturing chipmonks and bunnies so as to maintain my sanity.
Mormon Underwear might get a break for non-Mormon husbands, but judging from the subtle (read: terrified) reactions of my Mother, it does not get a break for hell bound Papists like moi. Why do I say that?
Remember when I mentioned that actually, I have better things to think about than some hideous fashion disaster with the word “holy” slapped over it? Well, it just so happens that doing laundry can get dicey for a Mormon.
The first occasion was completely confusing. All I did was take Mormon Mother’s laundry upstairs. Sure, I saw that the undies glowed and smelled of lavender and traces of ass, but I have been well trained to take up the laundry and deliver it unto the woman who gave me birth.
Well, the reaction, rather than a “Oh thank you, dear” (words you’ll never hear come from that mouth) was a hasty snatching of the Holy of Holeys and a muttered, “You didn’t have to do that!”
Thank you for allowing me another reason to be lazy. ^_^ Sure, why not?
Well, its only gotten worse. Because the worst thing about Mormon Undies (in my Catholic opinion) is that you can’t admit you have Mormon Undies, even to request that you keep your non-believing heathen hands off of them. After all, these aren’t scapulars. Scapulars you just don’t mention because you don’t want to seem like a vain little braggart about your own personal holiness, but if someone asks you explain what its about. And Scapulars can get gross, too, so you might be wondering more what in the world possessed you to touch that thing since its covered in sweat dried from years of use. Rather than a shameful thing, its more a “ewww…germs…” thing going on there.
Mormon Undies are NOT scapulars, and besides, you can get quite a lot of unintended pleasure out of them. For example, since its clearly stupid to wait around for Mormon Mother to get her clothes out of the drier (since everyone knows that will take half a century or longer) its clearly smart to remove the obstruction and shove your own clothes in. I’m not going to sit around waiting for the corn to grow just to be respectful towards a pair of fugly-wear. I have things to do, and not a lot of clean clothes left.
Of course, the practical solution is also the more hilarious one. Nothing is funnier than watching a Mormon Mother freak out as she approaches the laundry room, eying you with suspicion, glaring at your heathen hands and eyes as she sees her sacred underwear five feet away from where her worthy Mormon hands have left it. She left that pair under the care of Moroni, or Brigham Young, or some less holy personage- you know, like Jesus Son of God or something.
And now, it is obvious that her heathen Catholic daughter’s hands have spoiled the virginity of the fashion crime. Should she yell? Scream? Spew out verbal abuse as is her usual custom? No, she cannot. A good Mormon, like a boxer in Fight Club, never mentions The Secret. And so she says nothing, becomes nervous, perhaps waiting for Joseph Smith to come down and write another 19th century
livejournal post completely legit new testament of Christ and…stuff just for one such as her.
Quickly! A veil must be drawn! Throw the T-Shirt over the holey holy, tuck it in neatly, and storm away in nervous, impotent indignation. Get it away from the non-converted. Mention not a word of the sacred secret. Let it not be questioned, handled, or tried! Save it from marauding heathen hands in as dramatic a way as possible. March forward, head held high, like a reality drama queen, and don’t breathe a sigh of relief until out of sight of prying, curious eyes.
Mormon Underwear doesn’t cross my mind often; I prefer not to think about it. But sometimes, things happen, and I cannot help but wonder………