Would it Make You Feel Better if I Showed you my Underpants?

Let me ask you something, hypothetically speaking, of course. If you talked your friend, who happens to be a dumb boy, (Not that that should have any bearing on your response to the question, but still, he is, a dumb boy). into tearing out all of the carpet in his house and replacing it with lovely epoxy resin, (see exhibit A) in spite of the fact that it costs ninety four seventy bozillion dollars, and it takes dangerous machinery and,  many, many, hours of hellish preparation to ready the floors for the lovely epoxy.

If, you convince him that he should do this, because you will help him, and you totally know what you are doing.

If you are so persuasive that it really doesn’t matter to him that the manufacturer of the lovely epoxy strongly recommends that he contacts a professional, so that no one dies during installation.  If he buys your bullshit story that, clearly, the people who work for the manufacturer do not have any idea what they are talking about. 

If you convince him that crawling out of his bedroom window to get in to his kitchen, or bathroom, for three days in December, when it is cold as balls outside, while the lovely epoxy dries is a good idea, a really excellent idea actually.

If you help him install the lovely epoxy floors and secretly you are really surprised, and really, really, relieved the whole thing is not screwed up, because you didn’t have a clue as to what you were doing, and worse, you did not have one single good argument planned for why he should not stab you after you screwed it up.

If, later you get a picture in your e-mail box, of what appears to be a lizard, embedded in the lovely epoxy (See exhibit B), in the exact area of the floor for which you were responsible, meaning that it appears that you coated the live, living lizard with epoxy, and then, when he stuck to the floor, you covered  him yet a second time, just to prolong his misery.



If essentially, you murdered a lizard and the floor all in one shot, (Oh Karma, I fear you are a bitch) then what the pray tell would you say?

 The only thing that comes to my mind is the unfortunate Creepy Crawler incident of my second grade year when I convinced Brian Christensen, (Another dumb boy), that it really, truly, cross my heart, would be OK to make Creepy Crawlers in his basement with the new Creepy Crawler maker that he got for Christmas, even though he promised his mother that he never, ever, would make Creepy Crawlers, unless his mother was there, and she wasn’t, but, I promised it would be OK, because I knew exactly what I was doing, which I didn’t.

Anyway, when Brian Christensen’s mother caught us in the basement making Creepy Crawlers, even though he knew that it was not allowed, and even though he knew he would get grounded, or dead, or whatever, when his dad got home. When that happened, I offered to show Brian Christensen my underpants to make him forget that it was my fault that he was grounded and soon to be dead.

Brian Christensen accepted my generous offer, and guess what? It worked, I had magic underpants! He was impressed, and not mad at me at all.

Obviously, now, my magic underpants seem like they may be the only answer to my problem. I could just ask “Would it make you feel better if I showed you my underpants?”, and then close my eyes and pray he doesn't stab me. I am pretty sure that is a good idea, except he is not seven, and he has seen underpants before. He might just stab me anyway. Underpants or no underpants.

That is why I need your advice.

Thank you in advance,
T