Not to generalize, but there are two types of people in our nation today. Those who think that underwear should be either brand-new or just about brand-new, and men.
Any time I want to stir up a lively debate, I can just mention Peggy's oft-repeated lamentation that I really shouldn't wear those boxers any longer. Women are only too glad to tell the tales on their men, how they insist on wearing briefs, boxers and t-shirts that more than anything else resemble swiss cheese or Frank Gusenberg. The old caution about being sure to wear nice undies in case one is hit by a car or, as in the case of Frank Gusenberg, shot 14 times by the Capone gang, and being taken to a hospital just doesn't fly with most guys. We reason that, if we're going to be in the emergency room with hoses, tubes, IV lines, EKGs, EEGs and medical personnel all over us, our underwear is going to be way, way down on our list of things to fret over.
But, today as I write this, let it be known that I have broken out a new pair of Jockeys, and I don't mean Eddie Arcaro and Willie Shoemaker. I didn't go crazy. I bought these in a two-pack some time ago at an outlet mall; the original price said 26 semolians, but the day I spend 13 clams on a banana hammock is the day I stand in line to meet Sarah Palin. The little orange sticker that reads "CLEARANCE $6" is my assurance that I invested wisely. This is, what, 2009? This pair of boxers won't even be broken in til 2012!
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