It's a life mystery warranting perhaps no more than a semi-oblique flutter of conscious examination, and anyone doomed to spend more than a cursory moment pondering such inconsequential things is likely plagued with a severe, unenviable case of Overthinkphilitus.
Nevertheless, despite owning resignedly to my dour affliction, I still find myself wondering thusly:
Is it preferable to experience partial ~ or full ~ static cling?
Case in point:
Having been up disgustingly late one night last week unsuccessfully trying to wring verbal blood from my mental stones, I found myself caught in the throes of a deep, sweet sleep in the morning which rendered me gasping awake in time to throw on some warmer layers and hustle sweet little ArJay to school just before his late bell went off. The odd thing was, on the way to school, I could have sworn I sensed the strange loss of an unidentifiable but palpable presence, but having no idea what it could've possibly been I quickly dismissed the inclination as part of my hyperactive imagination.
Sauntering home afterwards in eager anticipation of relishing a gorgeous double soy chai mocha while reading with my little girl on the couch under a big cozy duvet, I noticed something that looked freakishly... familiar... in the middle of the sidewalk, no more than half a block from my house.
It was a pair of one of my favourite lacy underthings, just lying there, now quite evidently devoid of its previous electrical zing. Exposed. Shivering. So tiny and vulnerable. Any sicko could have grabbed her! My heart lurched at the multitude of unfathomable, horrific possibilities. What if a fabled, dreaded panty sniffer came upon her first, lying there sweetly supine and naïve? (His hopes would've been sorely dashed as she smelled of the ever-so-fetish-friendly "blue eucalyptus and lavender" varietal of natural laundry detergent.
But still.)
As surreptitiously as possible, I maintained my pace, discreetly scooped up the poor, wretchedly pretty little thing as I walked by, and slipped her into my pocket as outwardly calm as a crystalline pool in a secluded cove. Internally, however, my nerves were all aflutter, and only as I was walking up the front steps did I cast a quick glance about to see if my valiant rescue of Mystery Underwear off an urban sidewalk mere blocks from the seedy Aurora had been detected. Fortunately not; the street was still deep asleep.
And this led me to wonder at my strange luck. While it certainly isn't preferable to experience static cling at all, was it fortuitous only partial static cling dictated my sweet skivvies fell off early on in an unpopulated walk to school, or would it have been more ideal to have them stow away the entire voyage there and back, brandished triumphantly on my leg like a treasured, crocheted Irish lace doily under Granny's plastic-sheeted coffee table?
Yes, you're probably right. Perhaps partial static cling wins out... at least in the very end.
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