You know what’s tearing apart relationships across this great land? Underpants. In short, it’s fraught. Men are alarmed by the way women of all ages are suddenly wearing nanna-knickers and women are jack of blokes who wear underwear held together by two molecules and some air.
I never realised there was such a hot-bed of undie angst out there until I found myself among a group of women discussing it. I love this about women. The way that even in a group who barely know each other, you can get right down to the business of discussing sex and underwear.
Men’s first. “Does anyone else’s husband wear horrible thread-bare undies with the arse half hanging out?” ventured one woman apropos of I-can’t-remember-what. Much nodding ensued among those in long-term relationships.
“My husband wears his undies until they’re merely a collection of holes hanging on by a withered piece of elastic. I’ve been known to literally rip them off his body in disgust – NOT lust – and shred them so that he can’t ever wear them again.” More nodding. “My boyfriend is the same,” interjected a third woman. “He’s wearing the exact same pairs of undies he owned when we met 11 years ago. Is it because men hate shopping for new ones?”
That’s a good question. Here’s another good question: how do they GET them like that? As the wife of Withered Elastic Man pointed out, “I mean, my undies get a bit faded or misshapen but I’ve never had a pair that’s become so tattered in such a short period of time. Do they lie down and rub themselves on gravel or something?”
The only 20-something in the group looked astonished. “The guys I know would rather die than wear holey undies. They all wear Calvin Kleins or at least really nice Bonds ones. Then they pull the waistbands above their jeans and relish any opportunity to take off their shirts so they can flash the brand.”