Change of underwear, personality

Change of underwear, personality

This hot, rainy summer of 2008 found me in my 68th year of being.It also found my life in a rut. This is the summer I am to attendthe celebration of the 50th anniversary of my high schoolgraduation. Fifty years, that’s a long time to have beendoing the repetitive, mundane things required of the average Joe. I sat down one afternoon after helping Susie with the dishes, atask I have performed about 3,000 times and tried to calculate justwhat it was I had done with my life. I have mowed my lawn 1,100times, I’ve shaved my craggy, handsome face between 12,000and 15,000 times and I’ve survived 131 Kno-zone action days. I’ve become so jaded with life that just last month, I wastrying to calculate how many times I might have trimmed mytoenails, but I couldn’t decide if I wanted to figure by thetoe or by the foot so being the devil-may-care person that I am, Ididn’t do either. That’s a problem with getting old. There’s not muchleft in the way of excitement, but still, I knew I had to dosomething different or I’d go mad with the sameness of mylife. All of our money is going to keep gas in the car and eggs inthe skillet so I couldn’t do anything too dramatic becausedramatic is expensive. Then, a couple weeks ago, I saw the answer to my plight. I wasbrowsing the Mega-mart with Susie (something I’ve alreadydone 2,000 times) when I came across a sale on men’s underwear. I could use some new underwear, I thought. I’m notan impulse buyer though, so I hesitated. In my lifetime, I’ve probably put on underwear upwards of24,000 times. I spent a few minutes trying to gat an exact count,but couldn’t because of the Leap years involved. Also,I’m not exactly sure when it was that I became potty trainedand left the diapers behind. I started to grab a six pack of men’s briefs off the rackwhen I stopped. I know this is way more information than you wantto know, but you see, the thing about it is, in all my 68 years,with the exception of a military stint, I’ve always been abriefs kind of guy. But I suddenly realized that here was a goldenopportunity to change my life. I could buy a package of boxers forthe same money and become a new man. My gosh, what a revelation. Not only would I change my choice ofunderwear design, I could also experiment with colors. I wasovercome with anticipation while poring over the myriad of colorchoices; finally settling on a four pack with a dark blue pair, ared plaid, a green and yellow stripe and a demure paisley. I grabbed my selection and went in search of Susie. “What is this?” she said as I placed my package in thecart. “It’s my new underwear. I’m a changed man,”I told her. “But in colors?” she said. “Don’t you thinkyou should just take it one step at a time?” “No Ma’am. This is the new me. The people at the alumnidinner are going to see a different person, a person with a vibrantpersonality. I’m also going to be more colorful,” Isaid, holding up the four pack. “Really? And how are they going to know you’re wearingnew underwear?” “They’re not. I’m talking metaphoricallyhere.” “Okay, Mr. Metaphor. Good Luck.” The following day, we had a social engagement to attend and Ifigured this would be the perfect time to try out my new wardrobe.I went with the dark blue boxers topped by a cool looking sportsshirt and white walking shorts. I walked out to our living room and did a pirouette in my newensemble but instead of getting a look of admiration from Susie,all I got was this head shaking negative reaction. “You can’t wear those shorts. You can see yourunderwear right through them.” “What?” I said, horrified. “Look in the mirror.” I twisted and turned until I could see the reflection of myposterior and there they were, the dark blue boxers shining throughthe white cloth of my walking shorts like a homing beacon. “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t know that youcan’t do that?” She said. “I guess I didn’t.” “Women learn that lesson before they even reach the age ofreason.” “When is that? 50?” I was a bit curt with my reply, butI was also a bit perturbed. There should have been a warning labelon the package. “Just change your shorts, Mr. Smart Aleck. We’realready late.” “But I wanted to wear these shorts.” “Not with those boxers.” The blue boxers went to the laundry hamper. Maybe the red plaidpair would work. Nope. It was even worse. I looked like the headclown at the Shrine Circus. “When can I ever wear these things?” I asked a grinningSusie. “You wear them with dark clothes unless you’re one ofthose idiots who wear their pants around their knees, then you canwear them anytime.” “But my alumni outfit.” “I’m afraid not.” “So the same old me is going to the alumni dinner??” “Unless you buy some white boxers.” That would mean no new, colorful personality, but still, it was anidea. Any old port in a storm, I suppose. Grindstaff has lived in Mooresville since 1975. He has been writinghis humor column since 2002. He can be reached by e-mail at:gordongrindstaff@yahoo.com.