All my life I have received the usual assortment of Christmas gifts of the socks, undershirts, underpants variety.
As a kid I HATED getting any form of underwear for Christmas. Heck, as a boy, I didn't want clothing of any form, that was just a present that should have been a toy. A total waste.
Then as a teen, I'd appreciate a new pair of blue jeans or cool shirt or new shoes. The attitude slips up on you insidiously; pure stealth.
Underwear was never a welcome gift, though I did use it.
But somewhere along the way I became an old man. What the heck happened? I'm only 45!
This past Christmas, I myself picked out a Christmas present(s) for me that I have never had in all of my life.
I picked out packages giving me a total of 10, count 'em, 10, new undershirts. The kind with the info printed in the inside of the shirt; no pesky tag to itch the back of my neck any more.
BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!
I picked out packages giving me a total of 10, count 'em, 10, new pairs of underpants.
HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS FOLKS, THERE'S STILL MORE!
I also picked out packages giving me a total of 12, count 'em, 12, new pairs of white cotton socks. (You know, the kind for big feet, men's sized 12-15, with extra cushy bottoms. I wear size 14 shoes.)
All of this on the same Christmas!
I know you're thinkin', "I hope that's all because I can't take ANY MORE!"
Sorry to disappoint and put your heads in danger of exploding, but the story doesn't end there.
Since I must have single handedly emptied a 1000 acre cotton field with my 2007 Christmas Underwear Bonanza, you'll never guess what I did next.
I washed all of the new undies, and THREW AWAY EVERY LAST PIECE OF MY OLD UNDERWEAR! Every t-shirt, every pair of underpants, every cotton sock that I owned went into the trash. EVERY ONE.
Then I stood and looked wonderingly into my underwear drawer (2nd drawer down from top) in my chest 'o drawers. For the first time since I was a baby wearing new stuff, I had all new undies, every darn piece. Freshly washed with good smelling detergent and fabric softener, gleaming from the drawer with that soft, incredibly white glow that only new underwear can have.
No more socks with holes.
No more undershirts with underarm holes and food stains.
No more underpants with the elastic waistband torn loose in places.
No more white socks with holes in the toes.
But I have found in the past month since Christmas, that there is a down side.
I can no longer dismiss the claims and talk of people younger than me with the brutal statement, "I have underwear older than you!"
Because all of my skivies are only one month old.
But on the up side, if I get into a bad car wreck and they take me to the hospital, the cops, EMTs, and hospital personnel will all, without exception, say, "This boy without a doubt has on some of the nicest, cleanest underwear I've ever seen; and look, no holes anywhere! His Mama sure did raise him right."
And my Sainted Mother will be so proud that I listened to her about always wearing good clean underwear in case of an accident.
'Cause then she won't be embarrassed and ashamed and stuff because of me.
I think also, that Fruit of the Loom stock went up 3% on my purchase alone, thus helping the US economy.
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