The Falling Underwear Tree

During my tramp through the fields every morning, it's rare that I find anything to disturb my serenity. Really hard to get ruffled at all with Corrine Bailey Rae humming contentedly in my ears. Till this past week.

An oddity has come my way. This queer lil tree that I have started dubbing the Falling Underwear Tree. Reminiscent of an Enid Blyton fable yet far too naughty for children's consumption. Hell, it's far too kinky even for me.

Instead of shedding reddish gold leaves with the coming fall, this particularly bizarre tree has colourful men's unmentionables scattered arounds its gnarly roots. Like an underwear shop sale, it started with a pair of blue briefs in the morning. Then by the next evening, I found a green g-string and chequered boxers. One enchanted morning I walked by at least four articles of men's underwear from a couple of neon-coloured tanga briefs to one pink thong at the least.

You'd immediately look up to see whether the tree hosts a dozen naked men, wouldn't you?


Another victim of the underwear thief!
Puzzled me for a day or two. Several ludicrous possibilities came to mind but were hastily discarded.

Hidden cameras for a reality tv show waiting to entrap a punk'd victim? Gay lovers disturbed during a clandestine tryst? Sacrificial rites to the falling underwear tree? Wondered whether it was a perverted ( but woefully clumsy ) thief with a wicked fetish for men's knickers. Or whether this was a special bio-engineered sapling that grew cotton briefs as a forbidden fruit.

Do underwear companies really harvest BVDs straight from a tree?

Then one day I decided to investigate. Walking around the Falling Underwear Tree, I searched for clues but found nothing. There wasn't a hidden gnome busy stitching skivvies in the knothole. I had to widen my search perimeter before I finally found the culprit. Looks like the male surgical wards - with the hanging clothesline on the upper floor - lies at least half a kilometre away from said tree.

Seems the hurricane-like sirocco winds over here keep bearing aloft undergarments from the laundry line hanging above. Odd that male underwear seems to be the preferred choice. The maternity wards with dozens of hanging bras right next to the tree seem surprisingly untouched.

How queer.