Cuddling my wife in our bed. She wants me to rub her back. Rolls onto her side. Pull at the bottom of her oversized sleep shirt for better access. It’s stuck underneath her. Tug again, this time more firmly. Stuck. “Hey, what’s the hold up?” Think of cartoon tablecloth gag. Firmly grasp it dot jpeg. A gentlemen does not disappoint. Yank with the force of a thousand suns. Cloth ripping. Wife screaming. My asshole! MY ASSHOLE! She teleports out of bed and runs down the hall bowl legged, screaming. That wasn’t shirt. It was panties.

Bless her heart she wasn’t walking right for a week. I felt so tremendously guilty for inflicting her with an accidental atomic wedgie the likes of which any civilized society would consider a war crime.