Readers Tell Tales of Their Underwear, and One Has Won UNDEROOS!
In order to win some Underoos for adults, I asked you to tell me the best/worst/weirdest experience you ever had in just your underwear, while keeping things PG.
Let’s read a couple of honorable mentions first…
When I was in my early teens I had a pair of white boxers with glow in the dark skulls on it. Over the crotch-flap was some inane “Xtreme” saying like “Born to be bad.” I was proud of these for some reason. (Clearly there was never a chance in my mind that a girl would see these in the dark.)
I had a doctor’s appointment and decided to wear my favourite underwear. When it came down to stripping to my undies, my doctor took one look at my boxers and had a laughing fit for 10 minutes. It was a good way to delay the inevitable…
Also, I was in a class play in my last year of high school. I was playing this wacky American tourist in Ancient Greece. During rehearsals my drama teacher asked, in front of the entire cast and crew, “Chris, uh… do you wear underwear?” (I thought I was accidentally exposing myself, when in fact, he just wanted me to moon the audience.)
When I was a kid the local parish would perform a live-action Stations of the Cross through our neighborhood during Lent. Stay with me… At the age of five I would equate the leg holes in underwear with the eye holes in Spider-Man’s mask. As the entire congregation recreated the Passion of the Christ on my lawn I proceeded to leap with the proportionate strength of a spider and “web” the parishioners while rocking tighty-whities atop my head. That following Christmas two separate neighbors gifted me Spider-Man ski masks to prevent this from reoccurring.
And the winner is Sam Fryer, for crafting a mini-epic.
I was in my early 20’s when this happened. I worked overnights full time at a convenience store/deli while going to college (also full time) in the mornings right after work. I had been doing this routine for about two years at that point, and on the weekend mornings, the bane of my existence was the birds. The freaking birds. They just. Never. Shut. Up. I had no air conditioning still living in my childhood bedroom at my parents house, so as soon as the weather got hot, I’d keep the windows open (screens closed of course) while I slept during the day. I had to, otherwise I’d wake up in the afternoon drenched in sweat and have to wash my sheets. The occasional breeze made it bearable. But the one drawback was having to tune out the birds who were just starting their day. Lots of trees on my street meant lots of birds.
So that was one reason I hated them. The other was that there is just something about them that I don’t like. Something in they way they move. Especially the little ones. Those quick little jerky robotic movements…I just don’t trust it. Living things aren’t supposed to move that way. To me it looks like it does in a horror movie when they speed up the film to shock you, but they’re always doing it. It just ain’t right.
So this one morning I finally manage to fall asleep despite the little monsters outside my window, however, at some point during my slumber a weird sensation wakes me up. In my dreary half-conscious state, it felt kind of like a stray piece of hair might feel brushing against the back of my neck in an unnatural way. So I brush it off. Then I feel it again. I brush it off again. Weird. Weird that it keeps falling the same way, my hair’s not even that long. By the third time, I was beginning to wake up more completely. This time when I felt the hair fall against me I noticed it was heavy. Heavier than hair should be anyway. I again swatted it away but now I felt a distinct flutter against my neck.
Finally realizing what it was, I leapt out of bed (in my underwear) and spotted a brown house finch flitting between the head of my bed, which was up against a window, and the top of the other window on the adjoining wall. Back and forth. Freaking me the hell out. I darted out of my room and stood, terrified and furious for all the reasons I outlined earlier, mostly naked except for a pair of boxer shorts, waiting for a plan to come to me.
Finally, one did. I had a sword sheathed in bamboo that I had bought at the bobo Rennaissance Fair at my college the week before. I bought it because rennaissance fairs are stupid and I wanted to walk away from it with something cool, and since the memories of be-pimpled theater nerds would certainly not be enough to fill that requirement, I bought a sword for $20. It was sitting just inside the door. The plan was to grab it, stalk my way over to the window by my bed where the bird was ostensibly trying to get out, and cut the screen open with the sword, allowing his escape.
Everything went smoothly until I got to the window and began attempting to cut the screen open. It occurred to me then, that obviously this $20 piece of crap that I likely overpaid for was not going to do the smooth samurai slicing that I had envisioned it would. Pushing harder and sawing back and forth, I eventually opened the screen enough that I figured the bird could use it as an exit, and waited patiently (sword in hand in case the bird felt the need to repeat his earlier attacks) for him to figure this out.
Birds are stupid though.
This stupid thing flew around landing everywhere but where I need him to go. I chased him, I swung the sword at him, I threw things at him, to no avail.
Eventually he figured it out on his own (maybe about ten minutes had gone by) and then promptly got stuck in the screen. I closed the main window behind him though, leaving no other option for him and then went back to sleep, victorious. The sound of him struggling was easily blocked out by the storm window so I wasn’t kept up by that, but at some point when I woke up to use the bathroom later, he was gone. So I assume the little idiot figured out how to free himself from the wire screen at some point.
What I still don’t know to this day is how he got in in the first place though.
Congrats Sam! Name your style and size, and we’ll get you new underwear to have more bird-fighting adventures in.