So as some of you may know from one of my previous posts, one of the standard things that I ask for on my Christmas list is gift cards. This year was much the same. What did I do with those gift cards? I bought, among other things, underwear. Lots and lots of underwear.
Why did I buy so much underwear? Well, you see, I fully believe that underwear is the true path to happiness. Think about it. Everyone loves their underwear. Think about how mad you were the first time that you ever lost a beloved pair of underwear in the laundry room at college. Or god forbid the mourning period that occurs if you have to actually decide to throw out a liked pair of underwear because they were so worn out. But on the positive end, think of how happy buying (and wearing) underwear feels.
It’s strange, underwear is one of the few things that (hopefully) only a select number of people get to see, and yet we put so much emphasis on having good looking underwear that reflects us as people. Are you old/a dad? Here are some plain white briefs. Are you a thug/gangster/14-year-old white kid? Have these plaid boxers that are so good looking that you want everyone to see you in them. Are you a pretty cool, funny, normal guy that everyone likes? Enjoy these boxer briefs, because now you can get the best of both worlds (I like the compression-like feel on my thighs, but at the same time, the boys need room to breath). I’m assuming it works the same for women, too, but I don’t feel like pissing off a whole bunch of women with mass generalizations, so one of my lady blog readers can go ahead and figure that one out.
But as I mentioned before, the act of buying underwear is quite possibly the greatest feeling in the world. It’s like heroin to me at times. Everything about it. You walk into Kohl’s and look around the underwear section to see what the deals are (usually buy one, get one half-off). Then you look through all the packs of underwear to try and find the perfect set to add to your collection. Granted, after you buy a good amount of underwear, you start discrediting certain packs of underwear at the store because you don’t want to have duplicate pairs of underwear (because you don’t want people to accidentally catch a glimpse of them and then think you’re disgusting for not changing underwear when really, you totally fucking did). But on the other hand, you sometimes hit the jackpot. You find the four pack with four different shades of color that you don’t have yet. And then you take a closer look and find out that, not only are they different colors, but Fruit of the Loom now has striped boxer briefs. Talk about euphoria. And then the great feeling doesn’t even stop when you leave the store. When you get home you get to go through your current selection and throw away the pairs that you don’t want anymore like your boxers (hey, I used to be a 14-year-old white kid), or that one pair of underwear that is that really ugly gray color.
But perhaps my favorite underwear moment (of course I’m going to share this with you (And no, it doesn’t have to do with Valium)) came about a year ago. Imagine if you will, I’m in my apartment on a Saturday night, folding my last load of laundry before I go out for the night. I’m in a hurry, so I fold as quickly as I can and shove everything into the drawers. I leave, get hammered, come home, and go to bed. I wake up the next day with an incredible hangover, so I go to the kitchen, down about three glasses of water, and hit the shower. I get out and stumble back into my room to get dressed. Now, like I said, I just kind of shoved all the laundry into the dresser, so when I opened the drawer there wasn’t much order, so I ended up grabbing a pair of underwear from the center of the stack. I put them on, and I felt something special, something magical. They were still warm. STILL WARM. It was, like, eleven hours later. I’ve never felt anything so amazing in my life. It’s almost indescribable (but I’ll try). You remember the first time you got a zit on the edge of your lip or nostril? And you thought to yourself, “Hell, I’ll just pop it, that’s what you do to zits.” Little did you know that lip zits are apparently filled with battery acid, and makes that one side of your face feel like the skin is being ripped away and then the eye on that side of the face starts to uncontrollably tear up as if it’s listening to “Space Oddity” by David Bowie for the first time (I mean really listening to it (Nothing gets at me more than beautiful songs with a heartbreaking turn)). Take that same intensity, but make it the complete opposite feeling. And then take the ecstasy of that and combine it with the relief that is felt from the “Not pregnant :)” text. Then, and only then, do you even come close to understanding the glory that I felt in my pants that one day.
So, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you take this insight to heart, and embrace the next time you buy yourself some underwear.
Can you hear me Major Tom?