Or, "How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Thong"*
It's a funny thing, getting old. It changes the way you look at your past, your present and your future. Makes you reassess previous lifestyle choices.
With that in mind, I've been thinking about underwear.
For as long as I've been able to exert the power of my own will (stop that, you 'orrible lot), I've been wearing boxer shorts. Loose cotton ones for summer, more snug jersey ones for the colder months, and a spectacularly ill-advised phase in my early twenties of wearing a succession of silk boxers because my then-girlfriend liked them. I'm shuddering thinking about them (the boxers and the girlfriend).
Just recently, however, I've noticed that the aging process - whilst possibly not immediately visible from my face, which post-shave resembles that of a 15 year old who hasn't quite got the hang of this entire thing yet - some other parts are definitely feeling gravity's pull. I mentioned this to TLMG who just gave me a strange, concerned look and then immediately launched into a series of questions about testicular pain and had I thought about seeing a doctor?
I assured her that no, the fellas are in decent order ta much (remember to check 'em for lumps, fellas), save for a bit lower than I remember them being, and mentioned that I was thinking of buying some briefs to test drive, as it were. Another quizzical look.
"But you've never worn briefs."
"Not strictly true. My mother made sure I was always wearing clean Y-Fronts every day up until I was grown up enough to start making my own pants-based decisions."
"29, then?"
"Very amusing. Droll, one might say. Anyway, yeah. I'm ordering some noodle-benders to try out and I expect you will - as ever - have an opinion."
"No doubt, and I'm not afraid to let you have it."
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, really. Is buying briefs a sure sign of falling into weary middle age, or am I regressing to a time when my mother thought cream Y-fronts with brown trim were an acceptable fashion choice? Stay tuned for the results of my extensive testing as soon as the postman crams his package into my box.
*Not really, obviously. I don't want my fundament flossing, thanks very much.
It's a funny thing, getting old. It changes the way you look at your past, your present and your future. Makes you reassess previous lifestyle choices.
With that in mind, I've been thinking about underwear.
For as long as I've been able to exert the power of my own will (stop that, you 'orrible lot), I've been wearing boxer shorts. Loose cotton ones for summer, more snug jersey ones for the colder months, and a spectacularly ill-advised phase in my early twenties of wearing a succession of silk boxers because my then-girlfriend liked them. I'm shuddering thinking about them (the boxers and the girlfriend).
Just recently, however, I've noticed that the aging process - whilst possibly not immediately visible from my face, which post-shave resembles that of a 15 year old who hasn't quite got the hang of this entire thing yet - some other parts are definitely feeling gravity's pull. I mentioned this to TLMG who just gave me a strange, concerned look and then immediately launched into a series of questions about testicular pain and had I thought about seeing a doctor?
I assured her that no, the fellas are in decent order ta much (remember to check 'em for lumps, fellas), save for a bit lower than I remember them being, and mentioned that I was thinking of buying some briefs to test drive, as it were. Another quizzical look.
"But you've never worn briefs."
"Not strictly true. My mother made sure I was always wearing clean Y-Fronts every day up until I was grown up enough to start making my own pants-based decisions."
"29, then?"
"Very amusing. Droll, one might say. Anyway, yeah. I'm ordering some noodle-benders to try out and I expect you will - as ever - have an opinion."
"No doubt, and I'm not afraid to let you have it."
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, really. Is buying briefs a sure sign of falling into weary middle age, or am I regressing to a time when my mother thought cream Y-fronts with brown trim were an acceptable fashion choice? Stay tuned for the results of my extensive testing as soon as the postman crams his package into my box.
*Not really, obviously. I don't want my fundament flossing, thanks very much.
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