What the heck are skivvies anyway? It is said to be an old trademark, but that is not substantiated by any patents. I found a pretty convincing definition by a respected British wordsmith. He says it's military slang for man's underwear. He cites a newspaper quote from 1918 that uses the term. This makes sense to me because I have heard the hubby use this term frequently over nearly five decades. Just about any military or ex-military person is likely to be heard using that term.
A few years ago, we reconnected with a long lost buddy from the hubby's stint in the military. The friend and wife came for a visit. Catch up stories as well as old memories were shared, as baby back ribs smoked on the grill. The vintage friend told us that he sends out a running report to his folks and friends of the number of gophers and skunks that he eliminates from his spacious country property. Old friend's charming country house sits a ways back from the road, but the highway in front is a fairly busy one.
He tells of one late night adventure. Awakened by a noise, he pulls on his boots, grabs his gun and stealthfully exits his back door. Sure as shootin', there's a skunk, waddling around. Noting that the wind is drifting back in his direction, he cunningly decides not to blow the stinker away so close to the house. He stalks the skunk away and across the highway and into the ditch, which is a good place for the critter to become a statistic. Friend raises up just in time for a big Walmart truck to blast by, giving him a loud TOOT! TOOT! as he stands in the waving tall weeds, with his smile and his skivvies.
His story reminds me of many such instances through the years. The hubby that sat in a lawn chair beside our motor home in a Hill Country rest stop. It was after midnight, his rifle lay across his skivvie clad lap, boots on his feet. He quietly scowled at the rowdy and drunk teenagers, cavorting in their headlights. Little did we know that we had encroached on their weekend hangout. Shortly, the Sheriff glided by, ignoring the armed, half naked man in the lawn chair and removed the revelers from the property.
Indeed, in our neck of the woods, it's a Texas tradition. Scantily clad men, armed and rising to the occasion. As a young girl, I sat on wooden back steps and watched the neighbor across the alley slam out his back screen door, his white boxers bright in the moonlight. A man that I had not even previously seen at his window, jumped around, holding his leg and squealed, "You shot me!"
The neighbor's wife stood at the door in her summer robe, her hair up in curlers and lamented, "Goodness John, you got on your un-der-wear!" Television was limited and black and white, this was a pretty good show.
My grandfather scatting away a liquored up transient from the porch; my father chasing a shadowy figure from messing with our old pick up truck. In these parts, if you are on our private property uninvited, if you are toting away something that does not belong to you, if you threaten our life or limb, or if you're merely eating up the roots of our well nurtured Saint Augustine grass...don't think for one little New York minute that our lack of proper britches will save you. And when your hide is hanging on our fence post (either figuratively or physically), the tale that is told will most certainly be accompanied by a smile.
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