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Once in a Blue Moon

I'm not one who buys clothes every time a sale is on. Frankly, I can't remember the last time I went shopping for clothes. Much of my wardrobe consists of clothes handed down by relatives who fall victim to the middle-age paunch.
This morning I put on my seven-year old Osh Kosh jeans purchased during my job stint in Chicago and head to church. I did the usual Sunday activities of playing with the toddlers and so on. It wasn't until lunchtime when a mother spoke those magic words:
<center><em>"It's clear to see you don't wear boxers."</em></center>
There was a rip about five inches long running sideways on my right cheek (not the one on my face). This flaw in fabric could have sparked a Protestant parallel of the Catholic child-molestation scandals were I still physically in America.
Here home in Singapore where people know me better, it just results in embarassment.
I guess some people now know me a little better than they would have liked.

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