Shoot, let’s do more than mention them, let’s glorify those delightful hidden comforts — underthings. We know them by a variety of names: delicates, undies, drawers, skivvies, tighty whities, unmentionables, lingerie, underclothes. Much of the mystery has gone out of them now, thanks to the lazy bums who wear their pants at knee level.
Hey, droopy drawers, either pull up your britches or take ‘em off. Make a decision.
I really shouldn’t tell you thi– oh, what the hell. You know Carter’s? The kids’ clothing company? That’s the underwear I wore until well into my 30s. Little kid’s underwear. They were just incredibly comfortable, though, so soft and snug. White, 100% cotton, banded leg, size 16. Heck, I even had room to grow, they went all the way to size 20.
I reluctantly switched to Jockey For Her, the hipsters, when embarrassment finally overwhelmed the comfort. I still miss the Carter’s, though. To this very day. Underwear has gotten very complicated. A simple purchase isn’t simple at all. You’ve got your thong, your bikini, French bikini, hipster, brief, boyshort, high-cut. Styles, fabrics, colors, patterns. All the choices make my head swim. Enough already.
You know what I wish? I wish they made Underoos for grown-ups. I want cartoon characters on my underpants. I want primary colors and goofiness, I want the Minions and Beaker and Wile E. Coyote, I want Wonder Woman and Bart Simpson and Kipper.
I’d dispense with outerwear altogether and live in my Underoos. I would. I don’t care. How can I contact the people at Underoos? This is a gold mine.
Copyright © 2015 Publikworks
NOTE: Having just returned from the laundromat, I’m sorry to report my underwear situation has reached a critical stage. After years of faithful service, they’re mostly elastic now, with bits of lint in random spots. I’m ashamed to fold them in public, so I stuffed them in the bag, cinched it up, and vamoosed. They’re resting comfortably behind a closed door, tucked away on a high shelf.