People,

A tribute:

Today I am wearing new underwear and folks, I love me some new underwear.

New underwear is innocent and perfect. It's almost like it doesn't know what its job is going to be when you buy it in the store. I mean, it agreeably pops out of the plastic package and very willingly gets right in there to perform its task. That first wearing is like heaven, a symbiotic relationship between two entities aiming for the same thing: namely the comfort and security of your genitals. When Mr. Underwear is working he truly is wonderful, he's wicking away sweat, clinging where he should, not clinging where he shouldn't and making sure the boys stay safely out of the way of legs and other potential dangers.

However, from there on in it only gets worse. I feel like during the first wash and subsequent placement in the underwear drawer some of the old underwear try to break the rookie's spirit by showing him their frayed waitbands and rips in their asses.

At first, their harangue doesn't work that well and you and the new guy still get along great, but it doesn't last. Soon you feel him pulling away (literally) and tears develop in the fabric of your love. Eventually, there's a true break in the relationship. For some, the simple degeneration of the cotton becomes too much. For others the break comes when you're walking around in just your underwear and realize that he and detergent didn't get that jelly stain out from when you were drunk on raspberry schnapps watching A Walk to Remember and eating a PB&J all by yourself while silently weeping on a saturday night two weeks ago. Anyway, however it happens, your once true friend will eventually finds his way to the trash.

So for now I'm just enjoying him while I can....