Leaving the gym tonight it was… Well, let’s just say I didn’t need the sunglasses sharing my right hand with my Treo. For me, the shortening days leading up to the Northern Hemisphere’s winter solstice are usually kind of a bummer, but tonight’s early twilight was a blessing. As I pulled into my driveway, I was shaken by the silhouette of about 14 pairs of my neighbor’s whitey-tighties and a few of his bride’s “bloomers” hanging on a clothesline. Something has got to be done! I’m all for conserving energy and drying clothes outside is so Americana, but dammit, these unmentionables are why dryers were invented!
Listen, nobody wants to see what covers your ass unless you have a really cute one and neither of them do… Jeez. And another thing. Why are they called a “pair” of underwear or panties or skivvies? Here’s the best answer I could find. As long as we’re on the subject, let’s do some imagining about the underwear the people you know um, wear… Me? I think that’s been fully uhhh, covered in an earlier chapter. So, what about you and the people in your orbit? Just think about some of the people you work with. No, not the office hottie that you’ve already given much thought to, but the guy who looks like a cross between Euell Gibbons and the Unabomber. Yeah. You know you’ve wondered when the last time that guy took a shower.
Sure makes those paper seat covers seem worth the investment…
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