Everything starts with a question

I have a problem. Well, it’s not so much a problem as a question. But it’s not so much one question as a lot of questions about the same subject. What would you call that? I guess depending in the severity of the questions, that could be a problem. Then again, the answers to these questions aren’t going to feed my family, end poverty, or destroy civilization as we know it. They’ve just baffled me for years and now that my children are closer to adulthood, as their father, I feel I should be able to answer these puzzling queries before my kids start asking me. What do you think?

In truth, you’re probably thinking, “Shut the heck up, Mr. Ohh! and get to the freaking point!” Sorry folks, but I can’t. All my questions are about something unmentionable, and if I don’t mention it, how can you help me with my problem. I guess I’ll have to say it, so I better give out the disclaimer. “WARNING Possibly Inappropriate Material Approaching. If any of you have delicate sensibilities, tough crap!.” I want your opinions most of all. Just sit there and take you medicine like the rest of us. You might learn something.

An unmentionable question

The unmentionable thing I have questions about is, in fact, Unmentionables. True deal folks, that’s what my mother called them. I can still hear her saying, “I did laundry today. Make sure you put your unmentionables in the drawers.” And why not?  She lives just a few miles east of me. If I want to hear her say something I can hop in the car and go over there and listen to her say it. Pretty simple actually.

In simpler terms I’m talking about underwear. I’m told in Britain they’re called knickers. They might be called something else where you live. They are the little linen garments you wear under your clothes that only very special people ever see. The thing is no one is ever supposed to see this stuff but for something ‘unmentionable’ boy do we love to talk about it.

The oft mentioned office unmentionables

For instance, several years back I worked in a call center which was three-quarters women. Most of them dressed conservatively and there was a very nice working relationship in that office. But sometimes! When the calls were slow the ladies would stand up and discuss, compare, and contrast their underwear. They never showed off anything, of course. I don’t know if they ever proved what they said, but boy they talked. The primary topic was if the unders matched the overwear, or if their underwear matched itself. It was said they weren’t judged for not correctly coordinating, but if you didn’t match you had to talk to the guys for the rest of that day.

They discussed the values of lace. Apparently, it makes you feel ‘pretty’, but can be scratchy on certain female parts. White was accepted as long as you weren’t being boring. How the other ladies knew if yours was boring or not I’ll never know. To this day I know some of those girls were lying. Another hot topic was how high or low the waist band should be. I never wanted to know this stuff, and even turned up my radio when the discussion happened. Unfortunately, the ring leader of the Open Undies club was Vickie, and her cube was next to mine. Most conversations overflowed into mine and I always got a ringside seat to the Uncomfortable Olympics.

The only advantage to all this was when guys in the cafeteria would brag about the girls they had, or more likely wished they had been close to. I could shut them down every time by saying something like, “Oh yea Amy is cute. She’s wearing red underwear today.” Of course, I didn’t know. I was just going on the information I overheard, but with guys you always go with what works.

But some things are seen as well as heard

The odd thing is, most of these ladies wouldn’t be caught dead walking around in underwear, but loved to show off pictures of themselves in bikinis. I don’t get that. Three of them went to the Bahamas once and showed everyone the pictures. Those bikinis covered very little. Much less than the underwear. Then about a month later, one of them popped a button on her blouse. Even though this faux-pax revealed nothing, she screamed. We happened to be in a staff meeting at the time, and the scream was so loud, everyone looked. She yelled to stop looking at her nakedness, and ran from the room. There was no nakedness for us to see, and with a scream like that of course we’re going to look.

That’s what so odd about underwear. No one sees it. It was invented as a status symbol by the Egyptians. It seems if you were wealthy enough you could wear two layers of clothing. Oh Boy! Nobody knew you were doing it, but you had the cash so you did. Can you imagine going to the office in those times? Say you worked on the fifteenth floor of the pyramid. You’re on the elevator and the guy next to you says, “You know, I’m wearing a loin cloth under this skirt. Wanna see?” First, No I don’t want to see. Second this is not the time. The thing is, you gotta figure your boss makes more than you, so your mind wanders and you just have to wonder. That just puts thoughts in your head that you just don’t need at all.

An unmentionable Guy question

My next question is for the guys. Recently I have been seeing at the store something called a boxer-brief. These are made of light weight fabric and are supposed to keep everything all nice and comfortable, but there is no ‘access panel’ as it were. My whole life, my undergarments have had access to… whatever I needed access to. Suddenly there is no access, and it worries me. There might be an emergency and without an egress… Well, it could be problematic.

Maybe I’ve cracked the code

These shorts also have the symbols of super-heroes and little slogans on the inside of the waistband. Some are supposed to be inspirational such as; “Wear Your Life” or “Here When Needed” What is this supposed to mean? The first time I saw these sayings I was confused. They’re not only on my unseen underwear, but on the inside of the waistband, where no one would ever find these words. Am I carrying a secret code for the enemy? Will I be drugged in a bar someday and wake up on the great wall with no underwear, and only a faint memory of a slinky woman named Simone? Frankly, I don’t want this to happen. These shorts have made me afraid of my underwear drawer.

I had some remodeling done a few months ago, and one of the crew was a woman named Simone. Coincidence? Hmmmmmm This wouldn’t have been an issue except for the underwear code. Nothing happened, but I did lose a pair of socks after they left.

Is my house going to be the next hot spot in the cold war? Consider this my manifesto if I disappear suddenly.