A few days ago, I wrote about the fashion faux pas (which I think is French for Easter Egg coloring kit) that is the tennis visor. I'm happy to see many of you agree with me, which could only mean we all have way too much time on our hands.
That is not to say I haven't committed fashion mistakes of my own. I once wore a brown and black shoe to work. But I blame that on being hungover. That's my story anyway. I've worn white after Labor Day. But I looked soooooo good in that sailor's outfit. And the chicks dug it. And there is what we refer simply to as "Corduroy-gate." I vowed never to speak again about that day.
But the mistake I specifically refer to wasn't really my fault. I swear.
One Christmas I got a rolled up pair of green boxers in my stocking. Good stocking stuffer for a guy. Women get jewelry. Men get Life Savers, lottery tickets and underwear. Good trade, huh?
Any man (or woman) who ever owned a pair of new boxer shorts knows that is is just too stiff to wear right away. The Boxers, you sick bastards, the Boxers. Even if you wash the new underwear 15 times, they always have the new boxer feel to them. And that's not a feeling you want anywhere near The Man Zone.
So April rolls around and I've been a bit lax with the laundry. So I reach for the last option, my new green boxers. They feel okay, as if I had any choice besides going commando, or wearing yesterday's pair again. Even I have standards, so I hoist on the new pair.
About an hour later, I'm toiling around the locker room at my gym. Some guys walk around and leave nothing to the imagination. I struggle with that decision, but ultimately I cover up; I don't want to humble anyone else, of course.
So I'm walking around the locker room. Grab a towel. Shave the stubble on my face. I may have even relieved myself. Then, after several minutes, I steal a glance in the mirror because, well, I happen to look great (almost) naked. And then I saw it.
My Christmas boxers, which I thought were plain green, were anything butt, er I mean, but. The underwear was adorned with three words on the rear end.
Yes, I was spreading springtime Christmas cheer on my cheeks. My boxers said "Ho! Ho! Ho!" on the ass. So, naturally, I scurried for my locker with the speed of eight reindeer and removed the cheery evidence.
As soon as the crimson color returned to my normal April Elmer's Glue pastiness, I called the gift giver and said "How come you didn't tell me those boxer's said Ho! Ho! Ho! on the ass? I was prancing around like.....Nathan Lane... in the lockerroom wearing those things."
After about three minutes of laughter, I heard "That's f--ing funny. How could you not know your underwear contained a holiday greeting."
I thought "Because I was matching a brown shoe with a black shoe" was the wrong answer, so I ate crow and said. "You're right." (And those are two words I HATE to say.) It was my fault after all.
I don't know if any of the guys in the lockerroom noticed. Nobody ever said anything, and there was no outright jeering. I did find it odd to find mistletoe hung over my locker the next day, but I was just happy to have a clean pair of clean back boxers over the Man Zone.
I shortly switched to boxer briefs. I tell people it's because they are more comfortable. But it's really because I choose not to make my rear end a billboard for anyone -- even Santa Claus.
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