Reinventing Ourselves by Changing Underwear

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underwear men


Yup, that’s all. That’s what a friend said to me in response to “Vagina Monologue” in last week’s blog title.

Penis Paragraph … snicker snicker … funny … Ha Ha

Funny – not Ha Ha – is growing older, developing wrinkles and sagging skin but not being tuned in enough to see it.

It’s funny because inside myself I’m the same kid who jumped out of bed this morning (it is 1967, right?) when I smelled Mom cooking bacon in the kitchen. Thanks Mom, you’re the best!

After I eat the crispy delicious bacon I run to the bathroom before school starts and I look in the mirror.



How the hell did my Dad hijack my face while I was sleeping? Back To The Future. Balding … hair sprouting from my ears and nose. Yup, it’s pretty clear that I’ve changed.

After absorbing the shock that I look different … I begin to realize that NO, I’m really NOT the same kid inside that I was back when JFK was shot … or JR was shot … or Reagan was shot … I’ve changed and my label has changed.

I used to deliver newspapers and flip burgers as a youngster, then migrated onwards to growing smelly bacteria in a lab. All different labels.

Now I pour shots in my new job as a bartender. That’s putting on a new label.

old time bartender

When you retire or quit a job, or are fired or downsized, you peel off all the labels …

I’m an architect, I’m a chef, I’m a doctor, I’m a plumber.

Labels get peeled off like dirty old underwear.

You shower and all the remnants of who you once were are washed away, ready to pull on a clean new pair of whatever.

The old way of retiring meant you went commando, no fresh underwear, no changes, just sitting on the front porch waiting for the Grim Reaper to waltz up your driveway in the twilight of your day …

Nowadays, most retirees put on some sort of crisp, fresh underwear. My latest pair says BARTENDER on the front.

I’ve been alive for 21,265 days… at this point, I’m a dim spaceship travelling through the galaxy and one day my light will be extinguished.

One of the great things about modern medicine is that our light can burn dimly much longer than it could 100 years ago… we have better telescopes so we can extend our reach. Most of us want our light to burn a bit longer so we can try on a new pair of underwear.

Re-invention, whether at my age, or much younger, is about extending our reach from inside ourselves.

... Adapt and you might get a fresh pair of underwear

… Adapt and you might get a fresh pair of underwear

A hundred years ago, you were born to a farmer, or a butcher.

And if you were a boy you lived your life as a farmer or a butcher and your obituary was a short one. One pair of underwear.

If you were a girl? Well, you awoke each day as a homemaker/farm wife, looking after your husband farmer or husband butcher, making all the decisions that mattered without him every realizing it. One pair of underwear.

Today is different and exciting and scary because we’re not only choosing to change our underwear but in many cases, we have no choice.

Job security is spinning wildly out of our galaxy and we can’t bring it back. Reinvention is happening, like it or not.

I began my lab technology career sticking needles in peoples’ arms, sucking out tubes of blood and then testing it in an Auto-Analyzer machine that took up half a large room. I finished my career 37 years later sitting in front of a powerful computer, sucking data out of a machine that was smaller than my desk.

CH-CH-Changes! We all adapt in one form or another, like it or not.

And if we want the most from our lives… the most contentment, the most satisfaction, the most happiness … we need to be adaptable enough to accept and embrace (most) change … none of us is so strong as to hold back the surging tsunami of technology.

Wrinkled crows-feet eyes or smooth as a baby’s bottom forehead, change in each of our lives is perennial as the sun rising.

Attitude is the distinction.

A fresh change of underwear always feels good… like crisp, clean sheets. Mmmmmmmmm.

Everything and anything seems possible.

And that my friend is this week’s PENIS PARAGRAPH!

Penis costume

Victor’s Secret … Got Your Cocksox on?

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The male equivalent of the “push-up bra”? I only hope there are no underwires … OWEE!

I hear your muffled whispers,

I’m not reading any more of these boring MAN ON THE FRINGE posts until he gets back to discussing the stuff that really happens in the back recesses of my mind.”

True, it’s been awhile since I waded into the wonderful word of sex-related material.

And that’s what I’m here for. Anyone can expound on the banal, everyday subjects that fill our TV and newspaper worlds.

I’m only blogging successfully if I can vomit up the stuff that many of us are thinking about, but so often don’t wrap our tongues around in polite conversation.

And more often than not, those hidden mind-gems revolve around the time we spend un- or barely-clothed and in the passionate, perfumed grasp of someone (for couples) or something (for my unattached brethren).

Otherwise, why read my trifling words, right? Let’s move forward …


On an evening such as this
It’s hard to tell if I exist
If I packed a car and leave this town
Who’ll notice that I’m not around?
I could hide out under there
I just made you say ‘underwear”

Pinch Me  Barenaked Ladies


Depending on whose statistics you believe, men think about sex 10,000 times per minute and women think about sex once each decade, and then only because they’ve been accidentally directed to a porn site while doing a GOOGLE search on “fleece stretch pants”.

So, it’s no surprise that – as a man – I have a slew of bawdy thoughts coursing through my head at any given moment.

Which brings me to the subject of underwear – yes, men’s underwear.

It’s an underappreciated, under-discussed, and under-explored field of understudy.


Definition … UNDERWEAR:

The only thing separating two people from a good time.


Strictly speaking, undergarments are subjects of daily practical consideration – but, can we be honest? Lurking beneath the unmentionable’s surface, the forceful ripples of sex and sensuality are always clinging tenaciously to our subconcious.

The western world is chock-a-block packed with references and allusions to sex whenever we broach underwear as a topic. Victoria’s Secret, La Vie en Rose, La Senza, Glamorose, millions of porn websites of every, and I mean EVERY, description – they all attest to our deepest, lurid ponderings.

Much that goes on in the underwear world is not about cotton comfort, it’s about the idea, the fantasy.

It’s not shameful at all, and yet we blush inwardly when we admit our lusty thoughts.


 “I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor.

Then I got on top of him and he had an underweargasm.”


Here are just a few of my takes on the masculine side of the underwear ledger:

  • Isn’t it finally time that men jettisoned the “wife beaters” and holey old baggy boxers for some fashion-forward items that will quicken the breath of their patient, panting partners?  Men usually wear the staid, old, meat minus potatoes style of undergarment that rarely stirs the erotic pot. It’s like some sort of pauper’s underwear – men will wear this for an indefinite period of time until the garment vaporizes.
  • Men have come a long way from the “tighty-whitey” era baby, but still have some major catching up to do. Women have stood for their own rights for a generation or more now – they’ve rightfully clamoured for respect and equality, while holding firmly to their sensual side. It’s time that women – like men –  took a more forceful stand on the male gonch side of the ledger. Why should men have all the fun in their insistence on “come hither” lingerie for their partners?
  • Can we dispense with the child-like term “panties”? It sounds like a word used for infants. Any time I hear the word “pantie” slipping off my tongue (oooo that sounds dirty), I look around for police officers ready to instantly cuff me for my obvious pedophilic tendencies and clearly child abusive ways. Let’s search out and use “big girl” words for what covers the bottom of girly curves like:

lingerie, briefs, CoverGirl, undies, drawers, unmentionables, undergarments, vulvacover, jockeys, underpants, shorts, Mom-don, intimates, smallclothes, knickers, bloomers, smalls, Great Wall of Vagina, petticoat, pettie, roll-on, g-string, thong. (please feel free to submit your favourites!)

  • Women have bra cup sizes measured in A, B, C, DD etc. Does anyone truly believe that mens’ manly parts all come in identical proportions such that one size fits all? Come on!  We boys should realistically have our own measurement system. I propose a few magnitude-related terms that would separate the “men” from the “boys”. Try these on for size: Tiny Tim, Mighty Mite, Junior, Big Mac, Quarter Pounder, Whopper. Of course, no man I know would ever browse through the A or Junior size. Every man knows that HE starts at the Big Mac size. But studies suggest that women do most of the skivvies shopping for their men, so practical female shoppers would avoid much of the masculine rosy blush when selecting from the little boys’ section.men's cup size


I personally wear a pair of SAXX, a local Okanagan Valley-made underwear. It’s not exactly Victor’s Secret stuff, but it is a “sexxier” cut above most Hanes and Stanfield varietals. It even has a small “labia-like” set of mesh panels to lift and separate my boys from the rest of the package. It’s a great little hammock to rest my weary stones.


My Sexy Saxx ….they should be sized as Alto, Tenor and Baritone Saxxes… 2 Baritones for me, please!

It gives me a warm feeling to send you away with some useful information to make your life a better place in which to live.

Today, I’ll assist your retail-therapy leanings by providing a few places to get down under and do your Mens’ memberwear shopping.

These should take you through slippery satins, to studly camo, to barely-there Brazilian styles and so so much more … or perhaps … less!

You’re welcome…