Asked what I do in retirement, usually my immediate answer is that I spend a lot of time in my underwear. It’s true. I’m a bit of a slob anyway, and now that I don’t have to dress for work, I spend days at a time just sitting around in my drawers.
My wife recently walked through the room where I was sitting – in my undies – and watching TV. Her catty little comment was, “you need a new uniform”. I immediately got up, went to the bedroom and changed from my tighty-whities to my tighty-blues. Hey, I got ‘em in any color you could want, lady. Red, gray, black. This is no one-trick pony you’re married to!
We probably need to pause here to discuss the fact that I wear briefs. Where did we as a society go off the rails with jockey briefs? Generally, women consider them pretty uncool. Unless they are worn by soccer star David Beckham. Then they’re hot, hot!!!
Why is he hot and I’m not? Are we not both men in our underwear?
Mostly, I wear briefs because I have seen the future. I’ve been around enough elderly men to know that women are not the only victims of gravity. My knees do not need playmates. But this is where my superior brain power kicks in. You know that pouch in the front of men’s underwear? That worthless overlap of material? Even as a little boy you discover that nothing goes through there, so what’s that for? I’ve figured it out.
It’s a cell phone pouch.
Yep. If you carry a small phone, it fits perfectly in your underwear, leaving your hands available to, say, make a sandwich. Or do a crossword puzzle. Or just stroll around the house in your underwear showing off your new cell phone pouch. Hands free, baby!
Set your phone on vibrate for those really special calls and the fun never ends.
There is a caveat. Once you share this information with your friends, you can expect them to never, never, never - not ever - borrow your phone to make a call. I have friends that won’t even shake my hand.
I think my genius intimidates them.
My wife recently walked through the room where I was sitting – in my undies – and watching TV. Her catty little comment was, “you need a new uniform”. I immediately got up, went to the bedroom and changed from my tighty-whities to my tighty-blues. Hey, I got ‘em in any color you could want, lady. Red, gray, black. This is no one-trick pony you’re married to!
We probably need to pause here to discuss the fact that I wear briefs. Where did we as a society go off the rails with jockey briefs? Generally, women consider them pretty uncool. Unless they are worn by soccer star David Beckham. Then they’re hot, hot!!!
Why is he hot and I’m not? Are we not both men in our underwear?
Mostly, I wear briefs because I have seen the future. I’ve been around enough elderly men to know that women are not the only victims of gravity. My knees do not need playmates. But this is where my superior brain power kicks in. You know that pouch in the front of men’s underwear? That worthless overlap of material? Even as a little boy you discover that nothing goes through there, so what’s that for? I’ve figured it out.
It’s a cell phone pouch.
Yep. If you carry a small phone, it fits perfectly in your underwear, leaving your hands available to, say, make a sandwich. Or do a crossword puzzle. Or just stroll around the house in your underwear showing off your new cell phone pouch. Hands free, baby!
Set your phone on vibrate for those really special calls and the fun never ends.
There is a caveat. Once you share this information with your friends, you can expect them to never, never, never - not ever - borrow your phone to make a call. I have friends that won’t even shake my hand.
I think my genius intimidates them.