Tangled Up In A Twist Of Fate 86/ A to Z Challenge / U is for underwear
Posted on April 24, 2013
I’m treading on Jenny Hansen’s turf here. More Cowbell has had many informative posts on underwear. This is my story.
It starts in 1948 when I was born. The nuns at the Good Shepard Home wrapped me in cloth diapers. They handed me off to my parents who kept me in the cotton breeding ground for diaper rash and unspeakable odors. There were pins some with protective plastic ends, some without. I woke more than a few nights after getting jabbed by a diaper pin. And every morning was a new discovery. What had my body done to dinner from the night before. Hey, I was proud of my creation and the gagging and retching was applause to my child-like ears. Toilet training consisted of a small chair with an opening and a pot below. At least they didn’t try to do this on the toilet. Even though it was scaled down I still didn’t want to fall in. (This was reinforced when we stayed at a family friend’s cottage and the facilities were outdoors and none too sturdy) The joy I felt making my parents happy when I went got me to use my little chair every time I could and it wore on my parents and the odd babysitter. Getting me out of the diaper and then wiping my bum when I was done must have been stressful. In retrospect I think the wiping part is a tad more important than the use of the toilet. Eventually I got the hang of it and graduated to briefs or tidy-whities.
The briefs were the standard uniform for some kids I played with during the summer. Running around in dirty underwear and bare feet. Cool. I had shorts and matching shirt, not cool. White briefs were the norm until my teens. I experimented with colored shorts around sixteen in hopes of gaining female companionship. Not one saw them. I went back to white. I joined the Air Force. I traded briefs for boxers, white boxers, baggy white boxers. With my name and last four stamped in the back on the elastic. They posed a problem in fact a few problems. They were government issue and after a few washings in bleach and hot water made the elastic null and void. They crept up your butt crack and nothing smacks of military as a troop lined up with half trying to get their underwear out. The last problem was one that affected a few, those young men who were, um, gifted and unaware. They could be found walking around the barracks with their gun out. (As in: This is my rifle. This is my gun. One is for shooting. The other’s for fun) It traumatized some and fascinated others. Some of the more creative took their shorts to a local tailor and had them altered so they were more, ah, aerodynamic. It went on for four years.
I switched back to briefs. They served me well. I had a drawer full of retired pairs (why pairs?) of shorts. The elastic was shot on some others had worn through in crucial spots. They were hard to get rid of. Some had history. I kept briefs until my thirties. I switched to boxer/briefs. They were snug as briefs and went down to mid-calf. They weren’t bad in the cooler months but when it got warm, stuff happened. You had to shower twice a day even if you spent the day in an air-conditioned room on a couch. If there was too long of a span between showers, say seven am until nine pm, all manner of strange things happened in the confines of your shorts. Missing a day could cause an odiferous condition that some adventurous world travelers might recall from houses of ill-repute. Another switch, back to boxers, baggy white boxers. Without my name and last four stamped on the elastic on the back. The same problems were there.
One day at Penny’s IO spotted boxers. in color and not baggy. I stocked up. The old, white boxers were tucked into the drawer previously reserved for old briefs. I kept them. Swearing brand loyalty over the type of elastic, exposed or sewn in. I like sewn in, exposed leaves marks. The white boxers have since gone to Goodwill.
There’s one other thing, nothing is sexier than seeing a woman you love standing hip-shot with boxers hanging on her hips and a tee-shirt. For the women, their guy in a pair of shorts that fit and don’t expose any naughty bits in a tee-shirt is without stains and armpit holes. Ya know.
See you tomorrow.