This morning, as I was sitting on the couch working on a crossword puzzle with GM, I felt an odd sensation around my belly button. Quite different than the familiar rumbles of female bits churning, and certainly nothing like a burrito post script, this was an almost cartoonish moment. It most definitely could have been accompanied by a soundtrack featuring, “BOING!”
My underpants had rolled.
The elastic simply rolled over, and quite possibly, died.
My first thought was, “holy fuck! I just got fatter!” A thought that was deeply, deeply troubling as I have been pretty fucking good lately. I pulled my workout pants out and took a peek down at the lifeless corpse of my underpants, drooping in a sad poof of fabric at the tip top of my hoo ha.
I called upon my vast years of crime show watching to determine a cause of death. A brief autopsy of the elastic waistband indicated that the death was natural and that no foul play was involved. She simply expired after a long, but dull, life. A life of once a week use since the fall of 2000. She is mourned by an entire drawer full of slowly dying underpants, but was preceded in death by her cousin, a cotton sports bra that died a cruel death by dryer.
And, no, I won’t be taking these dead underpants off until tonight, when I can give them a proper wake. I will clutch them at my hip and look back on a life well lived.
My dear purple satin drawers. You saw so little action in your long life. Special enough to never be used in menstrual combat, loose enough to never be cursed for cutting me in the middle of my ever-expanding gut. You were a true friend, making me feel sassy as I brushed my teeth in the morning. Purple panties, you will be missed.
And yet I wonder if I am the only one with a drawer full of geriatric underpants. Is it gross or unsanitary to hang on to these cotton friends? Is there a shelf life? I just don’t think I am ready for any new additions- it would seem frivolous and maybe insulting to my collection of old faithfuls.
How are your underpants doing today?