“That’s your border,” Sally told him.
Jim laughed. “What?”
“Panties stay on.” She twirled and walked away, hitting him in the face with her blond ponytail.
“Okay, fine…but my pants don’t have to.” His smile formed beneath his blue eyes as his hands fumbled to divest himself of his blue jeans.
“No, you’re right. I didn’t say anything about your pants.” Her hands tugged on his zipper and helped him get the pants down to mid thigh. She knelt in front of him for just a moment, inspecting him. “Nice, babe. Now, I’ll play with that if you can catch me.” She stood and ran out of the living room and down the hall.
Being Jim’s pants were still mid-thigh, he fell flat on his face immediately. “Too much fucking beer!” He screamed, pushing the pants the rest of the way off and getting to his feet to commence the chase.
The chase was very short lived, however, as the game morphed into hide and seek.
Jim began searching the old dark house. “Where are you, poppet?” he said in his best pirate.
A giggle came from up the stairs.
With ninja-like skill, Jim climbed the stairs. He pulled his shirt off and dropped it near the top. “Poppet? I know you’re here.”
The hamster in the far bedroom decided to run in its wheel. The moonlight quickly passed and left the room as the clouds opened for but a moment to allow it to see.
He crept down the hall to Sally’s bedroom and stepped in. He knew where she was and slowly walked to the double doors of the closet. He cocked his head to one side and spoke to the crack in the door, “Hello, poppet.”
The door popped open and knocked him in the forehead.
Sally laughed at him stumbling back, and darted past him back into the hall.
Jim, stunned by the door, stood for a moment before following. As he got to the hall he heard the thunder of feet heading down the stairs. He quickly followed them and started down the stairs.
The shirt, in its infinite wisdom, had not moved from its resting spot. Instead, it captured his feet. Little known fact about cotton shirts is that they hold bets to see how many feet they can capture. Perhaps ironic that this was the first time one actually succeeded.
Jim’s feet locked in the shirt and his body formed a near perfect half pike position as he flew above the remaining ten steps. Head first, he landed on the landing below.
All went black.
Jim awoke and was unaware of where he was. The room was white, and bright sunlight lasered in from the window. “Where the fuck am I?” He sat up, and realized his head did not like the idea as it sang out in pain.
A short Latino woman walked into the room and said something to him in gibberish.
Gibberish was actually Jim’s term for any language he could not understand. He found it very rude that not everyone learned English.
He also found it very rude that the Latino woman was speaking gibberish, shaking her finger at him as her voice rose, and that he was naked. He pulled a sheet over his mid section and then held his hands out in front of him. “Stop, please.”
“Where am I?”
“Mexico? How the fuck did I get to Mexico? Where’s my pants?”
She turned and left the room.
Sally, the brunette who sprung the shirt trap on him, quickly followed. She wore a white lab coat and carried a clip board. “Mr. Turner, are you causing problems with the nurses again?”
“You checked yourself into our facility. And now you’re naked and saying you don’t remember where you are.”
Jim looked around the room. “So you’re not my girlfriend?”
She laughed. “No, Mr. Turner.”
“And we’re not roleplaying the scene from Pirates of the Caribbean?”
Her eyes brightened. “No, but I’m game for that.”
He stopped and thought.