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Trip and fall in the mud? I’ll know about it. Spill your food? I’ll see that evidence, too. Leave a Kleenex in your pocket? I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and make you sorry you were ever born. But the real gossip can be found in the underwear. Women like pretty underwear. The only time our underwear is not pretty is when we are pregnant. Like other stupid women, I believed them when they told me that being pregnant was the “essence of feminity.” What a crock. Sure, your breasts grow but your stomach grows more and when your stomach precedes you through the door, no one is going to be looking at your breasts. The varicose veins look like a roadmap and after a while, your legs grow together into one mutant stub. You no longer walk; you waddle. I’d rock back and forth, sometimes for days, and never make any forward progress. The hemorrhoids grow so large; they should have their own zip code. The rear end, which has absolutely nothing to do with giving birth, decides to expand to the size of a small blimp. Goodyear offers to buy ad space. And then, to add insult to injury, the underwear for pregnant woman could double as a sail. It rarely comes in pretty colors and any patterns would be superfluous. And this, this is supposed to be the “essence of feminity?” So considering how much we women love our underwear, have whole stores and some outlet malls devoted to our underwear, have fashion shows and lingerie parties centered around our underwear, we cannot, for the life of us, understand why men insist on wearing ugly, torn, holey underwear. We have nightmares about our men, husbands, boyfriends, sons, being in car accidents wearing that awful stuff. We can imagine the headlines reading, “Man survives horrific car crash in ratty underwear. Wife/Mother dies of shame.” I refuse to wash this type of clothing and after tossing it in the trash where it belongs, am only rewarded with the exclamation, “But that was my lucky pair!” Gentlemen, if you want to get lucky, I suggest you double check your underpants before you leave the house. Boxers, briefs or thong, it doesn’t matter. Make sure it’s clean, has only the holes it is supposed to have and be in a nice, masculine color. Don’t even think of going “commando,” either. Especially if you’re wearing a zip fly. |
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