January 20, 2004


In the slow-burning chemical process that controls when I do my laundry, clean underwear is the limiting reagent. You just can't go to long without clean drawers.

The specific trigger is when I reach the last pair, which is always the same pair as they're my least favorite. They're cotton shorts I got during orientation week when I was a freshman. They really should be boxers, so I don't feel bad using them as such. Whether they should still be my omega undergarment after 9 years is debatable.

The real problem is that since they're shorts, they have pockets - which is wacky but harmless. But they've also got no fly ... which is a nightmare.

Also, there's a lag between when I receive the "nothing but flyless shorts left" signal and the time I actually have clean laundry again. So my awkward time at the urinal can go on longer than it should. Nothing untoward, mind you ... just a couple days. I'm a very hygenic person normally. Really.

Anyway, all I'm saying is that I've got a dresser stacked high with clean underwear, and it feels good.

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