Wednesday, December 28, 2011

My Underwear Philosophy

When is the actual moment when you can, with certainty, say, “These are my underwear”?

I have a legitimate reason for asking. Really.

Sadly (because I have not posted for far too long), this is representative of the thoughts I have been thinking for the past few weeks. For the few who have been readers of this blog, I don’t mean to disappoint, but I haven’t been neglectful due to any grand and deep philosophical thoughts; no darkened rooms as I struggled to puzzle out the definitive answer to the questions of, “what’s next, who are we and, well, the meaning of, like, stuff’.

No. My neglect was inexcusable.

My thoughts tended more toward the navel lint origin variety of questions, Folks. You know, the second-tier type questions? Navel lint, will my eyes really stick in place if I cross them too long, and the question of underwear ownership.

So anyway, my wife bought me a pair of underwear for Christmas which were from our New Zealand trip. They were boxers with images and the words to the haka, a pre-war dance of the New Zealand native people, the Maori. So I pull these out in front of mother-in-law and father-in-law and brother-in-law and the question of their significance arises. So I am asked to hand them over so they can be given the once-over.

Now, I considered them mine when I opened them and thus, MY UNDERWEAR. You know what I mean? Like, unhandled by others not named Me or My Wife.

My mother-in-law said they were unworn, so they were still fair-game. I suppose she thought they were in a quasi state of unclaimed underwear, not yet mine until the moment I put them to the purpose for which they were made. I think all it takes is my acceptance of receiving underwear for Christmas and the act of holding said underwear in front of me with an embarrassed smile to make me the in fact and true owner of actual underwear. And that means, no passing them around the room.

It is a question of ownership that I have no ready answer for, mainly because of the mother-in-law addition to the equation. My mind says she automatically skews the results in her favor regardless, but my heart still insists underwear ownership requires only an acknowledgement that the underwear is yours in your head. So the moment I pick up a package of Haines in the store and think, “Yeah, I can deal with horizontal blue and grey stripes for the next couple years”, then that package of underwear is mine, and paying for them becomes a formality.

The important thing (again, this is what my heart tells me), is the mental acknowledgement of ownership. Everything else is superfluous.

Anyway, folks, beyond the underwear thing, I got pretty much nothing. I’m gonna go ahead and just tap my pen on the side of my head ever so gently, to try to coax something better for tomorrow. No promises.


Alicia W. B. said...

Hilarious! :)

MT Nickerson said...

From humiliation springs writing inspiration- to humiliate myself all over again :)

Julia Rachel Barrett said...

I think underwear does pose unique existential issues, mostly involving the wearing of boyshorts vs. bikini and the question of why any woman would wear a thong.
At least that's how I see it. Oh, and my husband's boxers are mine in a pinch when I forget to pack pajamas.
I've been hit or miss too.

MT Nickerson said...

Hi Julia!

I'm just glad I don't have the choices that women do with underwear. Once I graduated to boxers, I haven't looked back...