It’s strange what goes through my mind. Not at times. Constantly. I can be in a meeting and my brain is humming along to some obscure song lyrics. I can be watching TV and thinking about kumquats and why I’ve never tried one.
And then there are those showstoppers, such as the difference between right and wrong when it comes to men and women.
Oh, I know, that’s a heady topic to take on, the differences between men and women. But it was that very thing that was the topic of conversation last night and boy, was it a doozy.
It started when I made one of my usual, and what I think is a totally obvious RobZerrvation. I simply noted, “I don’t know what would possess someone to wear someone else’s underwear.”
The Janmeister was appropriately shocked by the statement. “Who on earth would do a thing like that?”
I then went on expand on this theme. There have been one or more women who I have dated or had interludes with who seemed to have discovered a shortage of clean undies just before their encounter with me.
Rather than ensure that they had enough clean undies in the first place, they instead raided their daughter’s drawers in a desperate attempt to find clean drawers for themselves. By now, you’re probably wondering too, “Who would do a thing like that?” I am not one to air the dirty laundry of others and won’t name names, but let me say that it does happen.
Even if it’s a rare thing, to a guy it’s very sick and wrong. I can safely say that there is not a guy on this earth who would wear another guy’s Jockeys.
We would rather go commando than put on someone else’s underwear, even in the most dire of emergencies. If we do have children in the house who are of our relative size, we will act in complete revulsion if we happen to find a pair of their undies mixed in with ours. We are extremely territorial in regards to this.
I was adamant about this fact. The Janmeister countered that it was no big deal, they had been through the wash. I replied that in the case of the borrowed Jockeys, it still has “man” on it no matter what you do. It’s akin to shampooing the rug for hours after the dog marked it. It still has dog piss in it somewhere. It’s the same with any intimate apparel a man has worn.
I have often marveled at the racks of bras and other unmentionables in the thrift stores I have frequented. I can’t believe anyone would buy a used bra or a second hand pair of panties. I’m not sure I could even date, cohabitate or marry someone that did.
The same is true of any woman who has worn their daughter’s bra and panties. I know that they may have cuter or cleaner underwear than you do, and you may think nothing of it. But to a guy, it’s slightly on the sick side.
How? Well, let’s take this to its obvious conclusion. You’re out on a date. Things are going really good. You’re both a little hot and bothered so you head back to your place. One thing leads to another and before you know it, it’s time to do the hokey-poke me.
You start to play strip poker but without any cards. There are bets on the table though, and it’s then that your date doubles down. She crosses her arms and does that amazing move where she pulls off her shirt in a way a man never could. You know the move.
But before you ever get to appreciate the luscious orbs she has just unveiled, you notice that she’s wearing a Hello Kitty bra. Something is definitely amiss. You can’t help but remark on it and she says, “Oh, it’s my daughter’s. I couldn’t find a clean one after I got home from work.”
Two things immediately come to mind. First, how does a bra get that dirty? I’ll let you in on a secret, ladies. Men don’t change their underwear for a date. Hell, we’re probably still wearing the same ones from yesterday. What could you possibly have done during the day to dirty a bra?
And then the second thought rises to the top. Your brain becomes muddled. You see this amazing creature before your eyes, ready to give herself to you, but you start to transpose her face with her daughter’s.
You become confused. The flag on your flagpole of manhood suddenly goes to half staff. The lust and passion you felt just a moment ago begins to focus entirely on the Hello Kitty faces. Suddenly, all you can think about is that you’re about to make love to a mom who moments before was wearing her kid’s underwear, underwear that may indeed been part of a similar encounter just days before. Sure, they may have been actually washed. But you can’t get it out of your mind that some other guy, said daughter’s boyfriend, may have been saying hello to kitty just a day or two ago.
This just never happens in a man’s world. We don’t wear another’s underwear. Hell, we don’t like to share anything with another guy. If a guy asked us for a shirt or to use our deodorant because they were out, we’d only let them if we planned to give it to them. We don’t want it back. We don’t want to ever see it again. We never even want to hear a thank you.
Thankfully, I haven’t been with an underwear-sharer for some time now. But that’s not to say that it has left my mind. Like watching a car wreck, the images are burned indelibly on my brain, the scene playing over and over again, going from Hot and Heavy to Hello Kitty in a flash.
It’s one flash that sticks with you. We spend the whole night wondering if we’re going to get lucky and as I said, the girl already knows. And when the time comes to get lucky, her body may be saying yes, but her undies are saying No-No-No!
In the Emerald City wearing yesterday’s underwear (just kidding, I think),
– Robb