Underpants Eulogy
I accidentally ripped a pair of boxer shorts today, I felt a small eulogy was in order.
It’s tough to lose a good friend, but what can you say about a pair of mens medium size boxer shorts like Frederick Shorts Koff? He was modest, and I called him Shorts for short, bought from the Gap, and raised modestly. He was made with love from small Thai children furiously sewing lots of other pairs as well. And yet, I ended up with my guy Shorts. It was fate.
We used to tell each other secrets, and stories. He was the kind of guy you could count on to let you know the girl giving you a handjob bites her nails. One day we went to an impromptu pool party. Shorts asked me, “Do you think their will be puttys (Panties + Sluttys…underwear slang) there?” I said, “Of course!” Shorts said sheepishly, “Do you think you can help me get in with that slutty hot pink thong that was with the blond at the bar?” And so under the condition that Shorts help keep any pool boners under cover, I would help him.
What a night we had together. We swam, we drank vodka, we hid my raging pool boners from the girls. Shorts started daring me to jump in the pool, because he saw all the other pairs doing it. Reluctantly, I agreed, as long as he could hold on tight. I always thought it was a little gay when a guy would smack my ass, but when Shorts snapped his waistband on my skinny ass, I knew it meant he loved me like a brother. As I got out of the pool, Shorts was holding onto me for dear life. Almost unflatteringly so. And I’ll never forget as I started to run and jump, I slipped and fell face first into the pool. We both floundered about for a little while, but upon regaining my composure I realized, nobody had seen the debacle. I told Shorts he better keep this on the super down low, or I swear to god I will use him to clean windows. We both laughed.
But it wasn’t always good times with Shorts. There were bad times too. At one point he thought he knocked up this underwire bra. They were pink, lacey, and quite obviously only good for their looks. I’ve never seen Shorts so scared. I could barely fit in his waistband that day, and when I asked him what was wrong, he barely could get it out. Almost crying, “She said she was a C. How was I to know she was underwire? All I can think of is A cup will land you in the A Block” Luckily she wasn’t prego, it was just the side effects of her starving herself half to death to maintain the lacyness.
Then there was the Mill Ave incident of ‘08. You know, it’s terrible how there are practically no useable bathrooms on Mill ave. Shorts almost got the full effect of this one fateful night. I was wandering around a few beers deep and realized that I had a full on bathroom emergency. The kind that sets off those “Am I really going to shit myself?” alarms. It was a tense few moments for Shorts and me, but the whole time, he said he’d forgive me and keep my secret. That’s the kind of guy Shorts was. He was someone you could count on. He was the guy you’d pull out of the dryer just to wear, or the pair that would hold the illustrious position of being on top of the basket.
So, Shorts, I’ll miss you buddy. I know you’re somewhere better now, looking down at me, laughing at that bitch who bites her nails.