Old boxer briefs with holes

This may surprise you, but I actually changed my relationship status on Facebook. I am currently dating a real live girl who is intelligent, beautiful, funny, and fun. However, this wonderful woman doesn't necessarily care for my fashion sense. For Christmas, I allowed her to throw out three pieces of my clothes—and I only allowed myself one veto.

First she tossed a cool yellow argyle polo shirt, then some periwinkle blue shorts, and finally a few pairs of crappy boxer-briefs full of holes, wears, and tears. I thought all these clothing items ranked high on the "Awesome Scale." So what did I veto?

My crappy boxer-briefs. Why? Because they are old companions, who've cared for and cradled my balls for ages.

You see, I don't just use my old boxers to nestle up with my nether regions. They serve many other purposes.

I try not to wear them around her, because this makes her shake her head. But I will wear them to the gym, on the running track, or just to one of my jobs. Granted, with all the wears and tears, these undies don't exactly give me the support I need, require, and enjoy, but whatevs.

When these boxers grow filthy, or if they're just lying around nearby, I use them to wipe up stuff like spilled wine, spilled tomato sauce on the kitchen counter, or tracked-from-outside water.

If all my towels are dirty (and since so many of these boxers are already bleach-stained), I use them instead of regular rags when I'm cleaning. So maybe I wash windows or swab my bathroom with my precious testicle-holders.

While I enjoy using Q-Tips, sometimes their cottony goodness doesn't get all the waxy grossness out of my ears. So I stick my pinky in my boxers and then insert my covered-pinky in my ear to get some real cleaning on. (I actually I do this with all my boxers.)

Unfortunately, despite my veto and all these amazing uses, my girlfriend still hates these treasures. She said, "Any boxers with holes will be confiscated and destroyed." Oh well. I guess I can always buy some more.

Until then, fare thee well. May you carry the junk of angels in Underwear Heaven. I will never forget… ah nevermind. I'll probably forget by tomorrow. But you did a great job while you could.

RIP, Loyal Undies.

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