I want to talk to you today about what's under the Fancy Pants: underwear. Everyone wears them, yet somehow they usually don't come up in polite conversation. Unless you're a precocious three-year-old, in which case it's more polite to talk about your Underoos than it is to tell the story of when you caught Mommy and Daddy "wrestling."
I could go all different ways with this topic. I could talk about how they have become optional, or the glory of the thong, or something along those sexy, sexy lines. I could even wax nostalgic about the aforementioned Underoos. I always loved Spiderman. I think I actually have those somewhere...
Instead I'm going to talk about the boxer brief phenomenon.
A young man's undie evolution proceeds thusly: diapers, Underoos, tighty whities. From there things branch out. Some people stick with the traditional whites. Others move on to boxers, or as Wife calls them, "useless shorts." A few - this number, according to scuttlebutt hearsay and locker-room gossip, is rising - move on to the leopard-print manpanty. But more and more guys are finding a middle ground with boxer briefs. I'll make the joke again: neither boxers nor briefs. Discuss.
For a long time I wore only boxers. It certainly helped that for years I wore clothes that were 2 sizes too big, convinced that my growth spurt would have to come eventually, right? Wrong. Instead all I have are pictures of myself looking like Tom Hanks after he turns back into a little kid in Big. Which would have been fine if I was a rapper, or 12, or a 12-year-old rapper. When you're 21, that look doesn't really attract the ladies. But I needed room for my boxers, and my junk (see Appendix: Offensive Mental Image #1). There's a...freedom that boxers allow, a liberation that stops just short of the notorious "freeball." And since this was a time before the upskirt shot gained prominence, I kept everything double-wrapped.
Then I got to law school. There I learned the importance of clothes that fit, and how pants are supposed to shape and cup the buttocks (see id.: Offensive Mental Image #2). But it's hard enough tucking in shirts (yet another upcoming sartorial post). Add the bulk of unwieldy overwashed cotton, and all of a sudden your hip-ass-groinal area begins to look a giant donut.
Please note that I refrained from making the easy sexist joke about a middle-aged lady's extra-wide hips. Because I'm all about political correctness.
So Wife, then going by Girlfriend, suggested boxer briefs. I admit I was skeptical, and a little frightened. Except for swimsuits, I hadn't worn such tight undergarments since I was seven. I worried about heat, and sweat, and constriction, and the "coal-diamond" effect (I worried my nuts would be compressed into a single ball, with which I could both cut glass and set in a lovely ring). Then there was the other problem: boxer briefs are sort of the San Francisco treat. But I'm a liberated guy, and it only took me four or five years to overcome that issue.
I've gotta say, though, that they've come in handy. My ass looks fantastic - or so Wife says - and the goods are protected, even cradled (see id.: Offensive Mental Image #3).
But I'll never totally forgo boxers. For one thing, there's the flap issue. When you need...access, boxers are a hell of a lot easier. One of the most awkward acts to perform in a men's room is to reach into your pants through your fly and start jerking around (no pun intended; I couldn't think of another word for "jerking"). And some boxer briefs don't even come with a flap; you have to find another...exit strategy.
I think the most pressing question is, "What the fuck, guy? I come here looking for the funny, and instead I get a barrage of sausage imagery! How about a warning next time?" Well you know what? That's 2 questions and an exclamation, so I'm not going to answer your rude question. What do you think of that?
But I will leave you with an interesting bit of trivia. The guy who wrote the first song in Juno also wrote this song, which is a much cooler underwear song than that "thong thong thong" crap. Barry Louis Polisar, ladies and gentlemen!