Yesterday I bought a 6-pack of new underwear in lieu of doing laundry.
Me and laundry are like opposing political parties: we steer clear of each other unless we’re soiling the other’s reputation. By last count I was up to 49 pairs. But in my anti-laundry haze I was careless and accidentally grabbed “days of the week” underpants.
I have two questions. One, how will I explain these to future lovers? (“Ultra cute” or “bad memory”?) But more importantly: why the hell are Saturday and Sunday on one pair of undies?
What’s the assumption here? I mean, why would you be wearing the same pair of underwear on Saturday and Sunday? Do those knickermakers assume that I’ll be spending the night somewhere—unprepared? Or did they figure that if God can rest on the seventh day, so can decorum?
Now, perhaps I’m a little OCD about this, but I started to imagine some scenarios.
It’s Friday night and I’m making out with a guy I’ve been dating for days, I mean months. Off come my pants to reveal my cute “days of the week” undies, and suddenly all action ceases. Confused, I look down to see that I am wearing Wednesday.
With some trepidation, he says, “Have you been wearing those since Wednesday?”
“No!” I say a little too forcefully, the way you do when you’re sure the other person won’t believe you, no matter what. “Of course not!”
“Then why aren’t you wearing Friday today?”
“Because I’m anti-establishment.”
He squints his eyes at me. “You haven’t changed your underwear for two days, have you?”
And thus his passion is snuffed out like a candle being blown and nothing I do will convince him that I’m perfectly hygienic. That’s it, I’m throwing my new purchase away. I have a hard enough time in relationships without having to justify my skivvies to a future (and yes, I’m aware that means imaginary) boyfriend. Now off I go to do some laundry. At Target.
Read more posts by Selena Templeton, love and relationship expert. Selena blogs for JenningsWire.
