Tuna Briefs

The first rule of underpants is: Do not talk about underpants. – www.topfive.com

I woke up this morning feeling in an especially grateful mood and I thought . . . I’ll blog about gratitude. I was preparing a mental list of all the things in my life for which I am grateful when I got into an argument with my wife about underpants, which, as the saying goes, got my panties in a bunch.

So, gratitude’s out. I’m going with underpants.

Now, I’m sure that there are people who’ve had an argument about underpants, as in your wife finds a pair (not hers) in your glove compartment. Not me. I’m just saying . . .

No, for me it was an answer to a simple question that got the ball (slight pun) rolling.

Wife: Your birthday is coming up soon. What would you like?
Me: Underpants.
Wife: No way. You have way too may pairs now and you never throw the old nasty ones away.
Me: Yeah, but . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The little dots indicate the space where I was trying to make my point, but my wife was the one actually doing the talking. The question in my mind was, how did I get myself in this situation? As a Wilmington real estate broker, I analyze information, market statistics, trends, etc. and advise clients so that they can achieve goals and make informed decisions. I'd like to think I’m a smart guy and a decent problem solver. You would have thought I could have (should have) avoided the underpants argument. After all, I’ve been here before. Our discussion ended, as it always has, with a curt directive to buy my own underpants. We have similar conversations about socks.

See, the crux of the matter is that I don’t like clothes shopping. I under-like shopping for underpants. So, every once in a while, I stock up like a crazed underpants survivalist. In a digital age, my underpants are analog. My stash is disintegrating. The clothes dryer has rendered most of the elastic bands the consistency of dead leaves. The fabric has the ripped look of designer jeans. Moths are appalled that I blame my briefs demise on them. It’s time to clean house.

Once, years ago in my youth, I mistakenly dried a load of laundry at a laundromat for an hour and a half. The results were tiny potato chip brittle underpants, sized to fit Barbie’s boyfriend, but he wouldn’t have been able to sit down.

So, faced with the choice of duct taping my briefs to my belly or going s-s-shopping, I guess shopping is slightly less painful than tearing off the duct tape at the end of the day.

Here's a thought for you first time home buyers. The government is offering an $8,000 tax credit as an incentive to purchase a home. You can buy a lot of underpants for eight grand.

Scoot on.