A Whole Lot of Underwear

What is the genesis of underwear? When did this start? Sure, if you happen to be wearing a suit of armor, I understand the need of a layer of clothing to protect the skin from chaffing. But besides the knight, who needed it? And why is it considered a mandatory article of clothing today?

I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping lately and it is amazing the questions plague the mind at 2 am. Fortunately, I haven’t hit the Home Shopping Channel phase where mystery packages begin showing up at the door, but the history of my internet browser weaves a strange and remarkable story. While I can’t tell you when or why underwear came about, I can brief you as to why I got on a kick about it.

My credit card got stolen.

It’s happened to us all. Random charges appear on the bill or we get a phone call from the issuer. The last time it happened to me the trail was obvious – gas a mile from where it was stolen, a few biscuits at the drive-through window next door, and then a major charge attempt two miles north at Home Depot – who denied it. The thief made it about three miles testing the card before it became worthless.

In this case, the card got stolen digitally and I am guessing they didn’t have the super-secret three-digit code on the back. Rather than test the card with some minor purchases, this guy went for broke with a charge of $434.42 at Hanes.com. And after I dealt with customer service, I chuckled and wondered what that kind of purchase would be.

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I perused Hanes.com and it turns out that crook must have needed an entire undergarment makeover because you can get a whole lot of underwear for $434.42!

But then, since it is 2 am, the mind drifts into wondering all kinds of things about $434.42 worth of underwear. What would the shipping cost? Would that be assorted colors? What that might have gotten you 100 years ago?

So you find underwear advertisements throughout time like this:

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Or this (my wife is looking into BVD’s if they will improve my dance style)

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And what the heck are they selling here?

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You could even have helped the Army out and gotten 789 surplus drawers!

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Oh, the 70’s were such a confusing time.

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I didn’t prove anything, but got sleepy and went to bed. As I lay there, part of me felt sorry for the crook with the empty drawers drawer while mine is full. Tomorrow he would have to wake up and put on stretched out, saggy drawers that in no way would help him dance, wrestle, or pose jauntily. Poor dude.

But I know myself. And I know that I would give a fellow human in need the drawers off my backside. So I stopped feeling bad for him. Maybe if he asked, or better yet got a job instead of stealing my credit card, he too, could enjoy the freedom of a fresh, clean pair of drawers.

 

 

The Light Bulb Thief

I had a dream!

Note my declaration is past tense meaning there is no similarity in weight or profundity to Dr. King’s Dream. No, I had a dream that scared me enough to rouse me from my deep slumber to ensure the security of my homestead. You know, that hazy stumble to check the locks on the doors, ignoring the fact that if someone wanted in badly enough, a locked door wouldn’t stop them.

Because I didn’t fully wake, I don’t recall the entire dream, mostly just the impact it had on me – then later, the impact it had on others. I am a very deep sleeper. For years I have said that comes from having a clean conscience. I’m not sure that is true, I just say it to make myself sound righteous.

imageThis dream involved a thief. But he wasn’t just any thief, he was after one thing: our light bulbs. I have heard of houses being stripped of all their copper tubing, never their bulbs. We switched to compact fluorescent long before the government told us we had to. I wonder if I harbor a subconscious grudge about paying more for light bulbs now and my dream was anti-government.  Or maybe I’m against the technology that takes ten to fifteen seconds to brighten the room whenever I flip a switch.  I’m like everyone else, when I want light, I want it immediately. Who knows, but this thief had the old time black mask. I somehow saw him in my mind before I got up, which should have been my first clue that he didn’t exist.

Retrieving my trusty Louisville Slugger from behind the bed, I slowly walked out to the den and checked one door, club at the ready. (Yes, I am an Army certified expert marksman who doesn’t keep a weapon in the house – unless you are a bad guy, and then I have an arsenal.) Door one, secure. Stumble on to door two – secure. The kitchen is declared safe. Front door, fine. Back door, copacetic. Even in my foggy state, something told me not to try the stairs…I didn’t listen to myself.

I stormed downward, ‘Old Hickory’ at the ready, around the strategically positioned sectionals all facing the TV screen, all the way to the door which was tightly locked. Hmmm, nothing to worry about. A yawn. A scratch. I drag my old bat like the Mighty Casey trudging back to the dugout and went to sleep.

Little did I know that to the television watchers in the basement, I had become the entertainment for the evening. I never realized they were there.

Two things to preface the story:

1 Because I rise so early. I typically fall asleep long before the rest of my family. Often in a chair or on the floor where I pick myself up from a puddle of drool, then wearily migrate to bed…which is a problem because:

2. It’s kind of a nightly crapshoot as to whether I have the acumen to dress properly….

I don’t know who was in my basement, or what stage of dress I was in. I haven’t heard from the sheriff’s office, so I assume I was covered. Now that I think about it, I wonder if the bulb thief himself was down there eating my chips and drinking my Dr. Pepper!image

If I had had one brain synapse firing, I could have just flipped a switch and known if my bulbs were gone.

But I would have had to wait those accursed 10 to 15 seconds!