I have tried to understand, Lord knows I have, but I can't figure it out. And there's no gentle way to ask, so I'm just going to cut to the chase.
What is it with men and the condition -- or lack thereof -- of their underwear? Why is it that a man's underwear can develop more holes than a badminton racket, but men are, apparently, physically unable to part with this particular undergarment that is worse for the wear?
And the kicker is, a man's outerwear may give nary a clue to what lies beneath. His shirt can be ironed, his trousers professionally cuffed, and his shoes so clean you could practically lick the soles.
But, oh, the underwear.
And it's not as if a man doesn't have options. I know we women -- wives, girlfriends, heck, even mothers -- are the first to spring for new pairs of underwear as requisite Father's Day and Christmas gifts. And to our dismay, sometimes these new packages of underwear never even see the light of day. They are passed over for the 'ol standbys -- the kind of underwear that a mother warns one should never be caught dead in for fear that that will be the day that we'll be run over by a Mack truck.
I know of what I speak here. I've gained extensive knowledge of this subject over the years, which has mostly come from washing and folding laundry. I'm not going to call anybody out (trust me, I do have names of various offenders), because that would just be wrong. But the general consensus is that so long as the elastic band is able to hold said underwear up around their waist, then men deem the pair worth keeping.
But in all fairness, I can't very well host an honest discussion about this epidemic without allowing The Other Side to weigh in. So here's The Hub's take:
"It’s all about the ventilation. The holes allow you to breathe and feel free. It’s like a fine automobile: It doesn’t feel right until it’s got some wear and tear on it. So guys, be proud, stay strong, and keep wearing those old reliables. And to the ladies, hands off and keep washing 'em. ”
Um, okay. Whatever.
Look, if someone were to randomly tag me to strip down to my undergarments on any given day, I'm not saying my that my bra and panties would be Victoria's Secret runway ready, either.
But I can tell you this much: At least all of my bits would be covered. I can in no way conceive of wearing a bra that is so riddled with holes that the twins would slip through two of them and hang free, thereby making my bra resemble a wearable sling-shot.
The same can't be said for men.
I've come to find that the process of underwear disintegration is a gradual one. But, regardless of the man, it remains the same. It starts innocently enough with one or two holes near the crotch, and then spreads wildly -- no, violently -- like a bad case of psoriasis.
Here is the process in photos:
Exhibit B.: With continued wear, of course, the holes have no choice but to grow even larger.
Exhibit C.: And this is where the wheels begin to fall off. As you can see in the photo above, the holes have widened, and it is all downhill from here...
Exhibit D.: And this is where the bottom falls out -- both literally and figuratively. A note to men everywhere: When your underwear's holes grow large enough to accommodate a second pair of quadriceps, then you might want to consider retiring said pair and buying anew.
(And for the record, the underwear in this post does not belong to Scott. But I can neither confirm nor deny the source of these photos.)
I am issuing a challenge to women everywhere: Let's spare our men the embarrassment, and conduct a mass purging of these pitiful artifacts. When the coast is clear, let's rise up, raid our man's dresser drawers, and put these shreds of material in their rightful place:
In the trash.
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