Well bless my cotton…

Call it too much information, but, contrary to popular belief, I’ve often owned more than one pair of underpants at any given time.

‘Tis a wonderful invention the three pack of kacks. If you wear each pair inside out as well, the pack will last you an entire week (that is, if you celebrate Sunday as “no pants” day).

I wasn’t too fond of doing laundry and my pile was often rather voluptuous. One of the benefits of brazen bachelorhood is that one can afford the luxury of simply buying new knickers without feeling decadent and ashamed. This I often did. It was much better than to constantly wrestle with old, dank, musty, beigy-grey Y fronts with a hole about the gusset where one’s finger had penetrated during a good scratch.

I was a little envious of one of my previous girlfriends who’d often gone without panties whilst donning a weeny micro skirt – everyone thought that was charming! If I’d worn a micro skirt with no bloomers I’d’ve been arrested.

(Yes, yes, potential pedants, “I’d’ve” is fine to use…)

I did “do” laundry occasionally, maybe just once or twice overall, and I’d always have to embark upon an entire load just for my ever expanding population of shredders.

Then one time, my laundry was really, seriously due and I was almost in need of advancing no pants day to that very day! I stepped out and cheekily purchased a fresh guiltless stash of grundies in the form of several 3-packs from the local supermarket.

Day one, excellent. Clean crispy undykacks. Nice!

Day two, er, only one more new pair left in the pack? Oh! That’s odd! Must’ve been a faulty pack. No matter. I had to slip into them anyway as I was pushing it for time getting dressed as always. I thought no more of the missing garment…

Day three, open a new pack, excellent! Fresh “alun’s” (short for Alan Wicker’s – knickers (rhyming slang))

Day four, now this is weird! Still only one other pair in the pack. Now I’m suspicious. I checked the lock on my room’s door.

I knew of the creature lurking in the washing machine, the one that sometimes eats one’s briefs along with the odd sock, but these kacks were brand “Harry Spankers” (new), so I couldn’t blame the sock monster. Maybe the whole batch was packaged wrong?

Except I was convinced it was just the sort of low, tasteless prank my cohabiters would drop on me (sorry, bad pun!)

I held the lonely middle triplet aloft and lamented his missing brother and slipped them on, fumbling everything into place, as one does…

Day 5, again, forgotten about mystery missing pants. Running late grabbed a new pack and jumped into virgin pair of chuddies from a virgin package. Happy.

Day 6. Holy skid marks Batman! Not again! Just one pair left in the three pack? That’s the third time! Maybe the missing ones are all stuck to the ceiling? Nope, not that I can see…

(The old joke being – the difference between rude and crude is that it’s rude to throw your pants in the air – and it’s crude when they stick to the ceiling. Sorry! Groan!)

I was stressed, I was not thinking straight, I was tired from my two full time jobs. Therefore there rationally absolutely WAS a panty thief about goddammit!

I’d had enough now so I allowed myself to be a tad late for the daily grindstone and accosted the most likely knicker nicker out from amongst my colleagues…

“Oi! Wanka! You bin at my kacks!”

“Wha? Wot you onnabaht? You off your rockah?”

Much abuse back and forth followed…

It quickly became quite apparent that I was making a class idiot out of myself, and in my growing embarrassment, bashfulness and to save face, I stormed off out to work…

For the rest of that day, I sat there typing away feeling a bit of a tosser (not an unusual circumstance) – and that there really must be something wrong with all of the packages. I planned to have a good, stiff inspection of said bum-huggers upon my return.

Which I did.

Now, it’s a fact of life that animals may have gone into the ark two by two. Testicles come in pairs! Boobs come in pairs! It takes two to tango! (Groan!)

HOWEVER! Just as with bad luck, underpants always come in threes and THATS THAT!

I glanced at one of the packs and to my horror, it clearly bloody well stated right there in plane letters on the wrapper – “mens boxers – 2 pack”

Oh shit.


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