By Robin Garrison Leach
There is nothing uglier on the face of the planet than a pair of men’s briefs. You know it’s true. Every wife on the earth stifles a shudder—and a yawn—as she tosses those “tighty-whities” into the washer.
Husbands are oblivious to this. To them, it is enough to have stepped into underwear, ugly or not. As long as there are two leg holes and enough elastic to keep them on his body, he will wear them.
As a rule, husbands don’t buy their own briefs. They wait for the Undie Fairy to deliver new ones at regular intervals. Sooner or later, the glint of bright, white, Fruit of the Looms will magically appear to replace their REALLY unmentionables.
Most wives eventually experiment with variations on the standard cotton brief theme. It’s a lesson in futility to think other styles will be more flattering, but it’s worth trying just for the yuks.
I bought John some bikini briefs once, (many years ago). He sauntered toward me, smiling. I backed across the room, giggling and pointing. He took that as a compliment.
Sorry, but the sight of a mature man in itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny bikini briefs is just a little like seeing an old poodle with a new haircut. Sure, it’s still a poodle. But who wants to see those scrawny, shaky limbs? The graying, patchy hairline? Bony haunches?
Enough said.
Sure, there are other options. Boxers look okay on the guy on the underwear package, but they remind me of something Popeye would wear to the beach. I also think of handlebar mustaches and barbershop quartets. Not my idea of modern manly wear. And boxer-briefs are a great compromise, but John says they bunch up along his legs. Not good…if he isn’t comfortable, I may as well just throw them out.
Maybe it’s time for a change in men’s intimate fashion. Disposable briefs? Wear ‘em once, throw ‘em away? I can imagine men all over America digging through the trash, looking for yesterday’s pair. “They’re still good…I only wore them to watch TV!”
How about pleasing designs or advertisements on undies? Whimsically placed artwork would give women something to look at besides that loose string of fraying elastic that hangs from the bottom of one leg and makes the wearer itch/scratch when he walks. Pull that string, my friend, and those briefs will disengage like sections of the space shuttle.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.
