I’m going to put it out there right up front. This post is about underwear. The Fresh Prince of Bel Air-inspired title might have already tipped you off. But if you are a transplant from the Victorian era and offended by talk of undergarments, then click your way out of here now. You’ve been forewarned.
Most people are picky about their pantaloons so I’m nothing special there. And some of us might wish the wearing of such weren’t the deeply-ingrained social convention it is. (Not naming any names). A few years ago I came upon the greatest underwear this girl has ever known. Got them at Costco. Seem a little lowbrow? Maybe so, but if we did a secret poll, I bet there are a lot more satisfied Costco underwear shoppers than anywhere else. Yes, I’m talking about you, worthless Victoria’s Secret. But even the best Costco underwear can’t be made to last much more than three or four years of consistent wear. Eventually I had to put the last pair out to pasture.
Underwear buying is a major anxiety for me. Everyone is of course concerned about the binding factor, commonly known as the wedgie or the snuggie. That’s bad news. But I find the bigger issue is the waistband. I buy my underwear at least one size too large because if that band starts to cut into my hips causing even a hint of that unsightly ‘spillover’, I just lose it. So I stand in the underwear section trying to look into my crystal ball and predict what is going to happen to these suckers once they hit the dryer. And what does a size 5 really mean? It seems to have no discernible correlation to dress or pant size whatsoever. It’s an unhelpful number; might as well be size 62 or 105 for all it tells me about how they’re actually going to fit. That which looks so inviting in the package could be pure disappointment in the wearing. And I don’t have the kind of cash to just be throwing it away on bad briefs.
We all have our underwear issues. Maybe we don’t talk about them at the dinner table (unless you’re my family), but we certainly think about it, face it, struggle with it. So when you finally land on the perfect pair (which hopefully came in a package of friends just like it in different colors), you want to sing it from the rooftops. Here it is: Boy shorts. I never would have imagined I would go in this direction, but on a recent trip to Costco, I noticed a reasonably priced three-pack and I lingered there for some minutes thinking it through. Boy shorts? What would my sisters say? Is there some stigma attached to boy shorts that I don’t know about? I’m going to be traveling with those vultures this summer. Am I going to get made fun of? What will I actually think of them? I can’t bring them back. Finally I decided to make the $9.99 commitment and I threw them in my cart.
Friends, I have hit the underwear trifecta. My life has been changed, if even in a small way. Boy shorts are to women what the boxer brief was to men. No wedgies, no spillover, no lines! I don’t know who thought them up, but that genius deserves the knickers-of-the-year award. Everything I never knew I always wanted. I’m converted.