My largest piece of luggage is much to big to be allowed as a carry-on, yet the airlines are forced to let me onto planes with it.
It is, of course, my mouth.
I use it to tote things around like I’m a golden retriever or something. If my hands are full, my teeth will suffice. What the hell is that about? You’d think I was raised by wolves.
Anyway, I’m not overly conscious of this habit, but sometimes I’ll catch myself in the act and it cracks me up.
While I was putting away laundry yesterday, I had my arms full of clean socks when I noticed a lonely pair of Michael’s underwear on top of the basket. Thirty seconds later, I had put his socks away into the drawer and I removed his freshly laundered underwear from my teeth.
When the full realization of what I had done crept up on me, I took a long moment to ponder how stupid I must have looked standing in front of the dresser with white Fruit of the Looms dangling from my chin.
I’ll bet that was quite a photo op. And you missed it.