It finally happened. After 3 consecutive days of wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a t-shirt around the house, I forgot to put on pants when I took Tori to the supermarket. Once I realised my mishap (side note: thanks to the elderly Chinese lady who politely pointed out my folly by slugging me in the nuts with her old-lady handbag… don’t worry, a few more hours of ice and the bruising should subside) I did my best to pretend that this was a hip, urban fashion choice by tucking my t-shirt into my boxers and speaking loudly on my mobile phone about an upcoming rave I was pretending to be organising for the weekend. I said “yo” at least a dozen times. Threw in a few “dawgs” here and there as well. “yo dawg”. Brilliant. Pretty sure it worked because as I was leaving I had a couple of sheepish teenage girls approach me and ask me if I had any weed to sell them. And… umm… don’t tell Peggy… but looks like we’re having a rave at our place this weekend. What exactly is a rave, anyways?