Friday, March 27, 2015

Unmentionables Mentioned

In most cases, the way I approach these posts is very simple.  A memory strikes me and I either put myself in front of the computer at that moment.  Or, I try to hold onto that memory and attempt to rehash it when time permits.  It's all a stream of consciousness.  Nothing contrived before I open the blank page.

So, I find it funny that in a thrilling Friday night of (sub mediocre) laundry folding, I feel compelled to talk (type) underwear.

Mine.  Not Jill's.  (Sorry, guys.)

First, a brief, but honest history...

As is the case w/ most purchases in my life - big (vehicles) and small (pens) - I tend not to replace a product until said product ceases to deliver what it was originally intended to do.

If the car runs, she will be mine until she runs no more...(unless my wife tells me we have to replace her w/ a larger vehicle to house our rapidly growing toddler-baby).

If the pen writes, an upgrade will not occur until the ink runs dry.

This resolute tenacity is a trait I hold w/ great pride...w/ a modicum of embarrassment...

B/c this mindset also holds true when it comes to my underwear.

As a result, it can be said (w/ some hesitancy) that I own and continue to wear boxers that were purchased as I entered my freshman year of college.

(Take a moment.  Do the math.)

Yes, Jill was aware.  And she often tried to do something about it.

We'd be out for a run in Houston and she'd see me reaching inside my shorts.  The visual could not have been good for anyone out in the neighborhood that day.  "Tommy, take your sister and go inside to play.  Now."

We're moving at a decent clip and I'm nearly elbow deep in my shorts trying to pull up boxers that have finally failed me (mid run).  Well, to be specific, the elastic failed me.  That's always the first to go.

We'd come home and Jill would point to the trash can, "That underwear goes in here after you shower.  If I find them in the laundry, I'm throwing them out."  And she would.  And she did.

But, despite Jill's best efforts, I hung onto a good lot of them as we made our way back to STL.  Sure, they were disintegrating before my eyes.  But, as long as the elastic was elastic'ing and the material was covering my good parts, the boxers were serving their original purpose.  Carry on.

On occasion we'd be out shopping and Jill would try to convince me to pick up some new underwear.
"I don't need any.  I have them on.  They fit.  I'm good."

"I can see through them," she'd retort, sometimes correctly.

"That's why I wear pants in public," I'd toss back proudly.

She'd roll her eyes and we'd roll on, me dodging one more bullet.

At some point, though, my stash was beginning to run low and a purchase was imminent.  We both knew it.  But, Jill was the first to act on it.

She comes home from Target one day, beaming.  "I picked something up for you," she smiled.

(What a fucking smile.  No other like it on this planet.)

Jill pulls the pack out of the bag and puts it in my hand - Hanes Premium boxer briefs.

"They're premium," she exclaims w/ glee.

I didn't want to tell her that 'Hanes Premium' is likely an oxymoron.  Instead, I simply told her I didn't need them.  She 'politely' reminded me that I did.

I proceeded to see what premium feels like around my junk.  Upon first use, I liked.  Jill approved.

Then we washed them.  And I no liked anymore.

A gentle junk hug is fine.  But, this post wash wear felt more like one of those uncomfortably close, firm hugs you get from an acquaintance (that lasts too long)...on your goods.

Jill recognized my...discomfort.  "Just take 'em off and pitch 'em."

"I'm not throwing them away.  They're serving their purpose.  I just need to work them in a bit."

"Jas, if they're uncomfortable, we'll get you something else," Jilly responded, making complete sense to a normal person.

"Nah, I don't want them to go to waste. I'll wear 'em in."

Jill just stared at me.  If interpreted correctly, a stare mixed w/ amazement, bewilderment, and love.

She had herself a winner.

So, when I come across these 'premium' unmentionables (years after the 'sell by' date) in the laundry this evening, I'm moved to mention the story behind them.

Your turn.

All love,

J, J, & r




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