gettin' my britches in a bunch

"So...anything you want to tell me?" I asked my Tool Man as I emerged from the laundry room, my arm extended for miles in front of me, my fingers pinched around a bouquet comprised of several pair of men's Hanes underwear in subtle shades of black, blue, and gray.

For the record, Tool Man - who I predict would be superdedupity happy to know you all know this - is a tighty whitey drawer wearin' man. He is not, nor has he ever been - except maybe in his Underoo sporting days - a colored drawer donner.

As if he was telling me something as boring as the weather outside, Tool Man glanced at the briefs, then at me, and responded.

"They're my Dad's."

Those briefs that were in my hand? Yep. Before the word "Dad" was even fully out of Tool Man's mouth, they were on the floor. Like they'd spontaneously combusted. Then I wanted my hand to catch on fire because I'd JUST BEEN TOUCHING MY FATHER-IN-LAW'S UNDERWEAR!

"What's the problem?" Tool Man asked. "It's not like they've been worn."

Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, these underwear had most definitely been worn. Perhaps several time. At least (although I didn't check for evidence, and you know what I'm talking about so don't pretend you don't!), the nubby, faded nature of the soft cotton sure made it seem they'd been washed several times.

It bears repeating here that I have no beef with briefs. As Tricia Thongs, lead singer of the imaginary multi-platinum selling band Penchant for Panties, I'm what can be described - in a purely non-pornographic fashion - a panty lover, a fact cemented by how I like to show them off. However, I like to slip into undergarments I purchase for myself. I am not a fan of the hand-me-down panty. You'd see how true this fact is when we shopped together at Goodwill and you saw me make the "EWWW!" face at the display of undies hanging near the used housewares items. In theory, I know they're clean. In reality, they once weren't.

On the other hand, Tool Man apparently has no problem at all with the gently used man panties, and in a move he described as being "fiscally responsible," he heartily agreed to accept his Dad's maybe used/maybe not underwear when his Mom offered them to him last weekend.

Let's me break this down for you:

• Tool Man, who is rapidly approaching 40 years of age, let his Mom pick out his underwear.
• To bolster our family's economic stimulus package, he's willing to put his package where another package may have dwelled.

I should be proud of him. I should have nothing but the utmost respect for him and how he wants to be sure his family is taken care of financially. Done and done. But this underwear swapping business is probably more than I can deal with. When I'm feeling a little frisky and want to get into his pants, I don't want to be bringing things to (Jesus, stop me...) a head, only to glance down and discover I've got my hands on my father-in-law's Hanes. And no matter how I try to train my thoughts, they will ALWAYS be my father-in-law's former underwear.

I tried to explain this to Tool Man. I even went so far as to try and find information about how no one wears used underwear. However, you try doing a Google search for "used underwear," my friends. Yeah. It seems there's a lot of love out there for used undies.

Sensing a degree of my unwillingness to work with these manties, Tool Man eventually got up and retrieved the non-combustible drawers from the floor and returned them to the laundry room for me to eventually wash and put in his actual drawers. But (Ha! Make that 'butt') I'm sorry, I just don't know that I'll be able to do that for him, and believe me, I've caved on A LOT of things when it comes to this man.

A LOT!

Some second hands need more of a second thought.