Underwear Redux

As a general writing rule, it's always a bad idea to do a follow up column on a previous column. It's a clear sign of laziness. Why cover a topic that's already been covered? Why not expend a little time and energy and come up with something new and exciting to write about?

Okay, I'm lazy - so what?

But a month or so ago I wrote an innocent column about underwear. Actually, it was about the lack of underwear. It all came about when my wife suddenly announced that she would no longer be responsible for buying my boxer shorts for me.

As one might expect, it sent me into something of a full-blown panic attack from which I have yet to recover. And understandably so, because it is an unwritten rule that men don't buy their own underwear. Don't ask me to explain it, it's just there and it has been since birth.

But anyway, I tried to deal with the dilemma in a mature and adult way, but as usual, I was unable to accomplish anything without my wife's intelligent guidance and wise leadership. In the end, I threw in the towel so to speak and decided that I could probably get by with my existing supply of shabby underwear a little longer in the hopes my wife would eventually be grossed out and change her mind.

Unfortunately, in the meantime, I had unknowingly tapped into the suppressed desires of wives everywhere to put an end to slavish underwear purchasing. A mass movement was unleashed as a result of my shortsighted attempt at humor. In the end, all I did was create an opportunity for the Feminine Nation to shed yet another yoke and thus bring about the end of the Male Dominion.

It's easily one of the stupidest things that I've ever done. And as you can imagine, I am not in good stead with the rest of the male population. For weeks now, I have been approached by strangers who have recognized my photograph and confronted me with murderous intent in their eyes. Bluntly stated, all the guys in the world are pissed off and without underwear. Yesterday was typical.

"Are you the guy?" some beefy fellow raged at me.

"Which guy?," I answered innocently.

"The underwear guy - the one who messed everything up for the rest of us."

"Oh, that guy," I laughed nervously. "No, I'm not that guy. He's a traitor. Myself, I'm down to my last useable pair of underwear."

"Well, if you run across him, tell him I'm looking for him," he hissed between clenched teeth. "I got a great big Wedgie I'd like to give him." Then he stomped off, holding up his pants kind of funny like maybe he bought the wrong size underwear for himself.

It's not an easy thing to single-handedly upset the balance of nature. In fact, it's sounding more and more dangerous all the time. But in all honesty, I'm afraid I can't put the genie back in the bottle. The women have tasted blood and they're not about to turn back now.

Having considered all the alternatives, this column is to announce that I've started a support group. It's called Men Without Underwear. Each week, we'll meet to discuss a lot of touchy-feely issues surrounding the truth about underwear purchasing. But for now, we're just taking donations - in all sizes.

And for the record, we'd prefer new over used.