Stretching Things A Little Thin

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Wednesday - March 01, 2006

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The experience I’m going to tell you about is a bonafide case of “too much information,” but it is a story that needs to be told - kind of.

Let me start by explaining a simple fact of life concerning men of my age.

That fact is that buying new underwear has about as much priority in my life as alphabetizing my wife’s recipe files - I have nearly no interest in doing it. I guess the old adage “out of sight, out of mind” applies here.

While I do have some underwear recently purchased by my wife, who while apparently doing laundry had to put several of my old pairs out of their misery, I still have a few pairs that are at least vintage 1980s.

Of course, my wife and my mom are in agreement that I should get rid of them.

That’s because mothers of every age and ethnicity believe that you should always be wearing clean and pristine briefs. Well, mine are always clean, but they have certainly been worn beyond their probable manufacturing expiration date.

The other week, I decided to get a real massage from a woman who was highly recommended by the woman who cuts my hair. Other than the iJoy massage chairs at Sharper Image, I’ve never really had a professional one done, let alone by an actual person.

The facility was immaculate and the masseuse, also the owner, was serious about her business. She led me to a room that was the definition of feng shui and told me to dis-robe down to my underwear.

Unfortunately for me, that morning I was down to a single pair of underwear that would qualify for the Antique Road Show.

Committed, I wrapped a towel around myself almost like a diaper. She didn’t say a word about it and I had the best massage of my entire life.

I did take great care in driving home, however, so as not to get into a car accident.