And no, you Smart-Alec’s, it’s NOT that I am SMOLDERINGLY sexy. THAT wouldn’t be much of a cat to let out of the bag, now would it?
No, this particular confession is of a more ‘private’ nature.
What is it, you might ask?
It’s that I don’t like underwear.
That’s actually probably a bit too mild. I HATE underwear.
It’s not that I hate the IDEA of underwear. I think that whoever invented the first pair of underwear really had his head in the right place (in someone’s CROTCH!.... Bada-bing! Thank you! Thank you! I’ll be here all night! Remember to tip your waitresses!).
I mean, the CONCEPT of underwear is spot-on. I guess in theory it’s a good idea to keep your naughty-bits all protected and free from flapping all over creation. Especially when I wear a pair of Daisy Dukes or Hot Pants. THEN there’s a SERIOUS concern with Mr. Wiggles popping out to say “How do ya do?”
So yeah, I GET the thought behind having to wear underwear.
I just don’t like wearing it.
I find that it’s very binding and uncomfortable. When I’m at work, I always find myself squirming around in my seat because my damn underwear just doesn’t feel right. I feel like I’m too confined and restricted.
My boys want to be FREE, dammit!
Granted, it’s probably not much of an issue for the ‘average’ guy, but as you all know, I have an especially large Hoo-Ha and I don’t think that modern science has yet to invent a fabric flexible enough to contain all that power trapped in there. Maybe they could make me a pair of Underoos from that stuff that they use to coat the Space Shuttle? Or maybe Flubber?
Or maybe I could just start wrapping my privates in Cellophane?
In any event, there are days where I just decide not to wear any underwear at all.
I’m always worried on those days. I have these thoughts that I am going to get into a car accident, and as a crowd of people gather around me as I’m laid out on the street, the medics on the scene are going to have to give me emergency CPR or something, but for some reason they first pull my pants down to let me breathe better, and then the whole crowd will start to point and laugh as my Franks and Beans are laid out in all their glory on the hot asphalt.
The more I think about it, I realize that it doesn’t make much sense that a paramedic would pull my pants down to give me CPR. I know that I failed 8th grade Health class, but I’m pretty fucking sure that there’s nothing down there that you can blow air into.