Hang On To Your Shorts.

One morning awhile back, I was hustling to get out the door to work and I scooped up the pile of clothes that needed to go to the cleaners, so that I could drop them off that afternoon. A few days later I stopped by the cleaners to pick up our clothes, and the two ladies that worked there seemed really glad to see me, really friendly, all smiles. One of the ladies tracked down our stuff and hung it up on a hook near the cash register. While I was making out a check, she said, "Rev. Hill, did you mean to bring in the pair of boxers with your other things?" I wilted. "No, I didn't intend to bring in my boxers." She laughed and said, "Well, no one's ever brought in boxers before as long as I have worked here." And I looked over at our clothes on the hook and sure enough, there under the plastic were my green paisley boxers, all cleaned and pressed and on a hanger. She said, "That'll be $23.60 . . . and we didn't charge you for the boxers." Now I was laughing, too. "Well, if you're not going to charge me, I'll bring 'em in all the time!" They probably still laugh about dry cleaning the pastor's shorts.

It was one of those occasional moments when a big hand reaches down from above and pops my balloon and deflates my ego back down to a manageable size. You listening? Don't take yourself too seriously or someone may run your shorts up the flagpole. It can happen.


Baruch said…
And you think I have issues. My boxers shall always stay my own.
Anonymous said…
You mean you still have those green, paisley shorts we hung on the flagpole at Baptist Rigde Camp in 1986?!

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