Boxers...Or Briefs?!

There are two rogue pairs of tighty whitey, Spider-man, size 6, boys underwear on the loose in my house.  They have been at large for months, escaping by the tiniest, itchy piece of unraveling elastic waistline.


(I may also forget to throw them out when they have found themselves in the pile of laundry that I am folding.)  


Every once in awhile I receive tips about a Spider-man sighting.  Most reported by The Big Guy, ugh...he's got the way too small underwear on again, referring to either the 8 or 9 year old that happened to catch his attention.  I remind myself that I really need to remember to throw those out next time I do the laundry.


(Wash, rinse, repeat this same scenario on a weekly basis.)

The two rogue pairs of tighty whitey, Spider-man, size 6, boys underwear on the loose in my house, really do need to be captured and sentenced to life without parole, with the sentence being served underground, at the local garbage dump.  These rogue criminals are known to be armed and dangerous, relying upon their chemical weapon type stench, that is used to ward off those around them.  Be advised, the stench can be potent.    


The rogue underwear partnered with some boys, who let's just say, were the mischievous type.  You know...the type who pee all over toilet seats, go the bathroom without wiping their butts, like to give wedgies to whomever walks by them.  Yeah, those kind of guys.  Together, the four criminals left a of trail of grossness and stench behind them.  They lived a carefree lifestyle, never once thinking about what their mischievous ways were doing to others.  On numerous, sometimes daily occurrences, I would receive complaints from an angry, female patron regarding pee left behind on toilet seats after certain boys had just visited the bathroom.


On numerous occasions  I have had the pleasure of  cleaning up the skid marks left behind after what must have been, a messy fight between rogue underwear and a little boy's butt.  Yes, the criminals are known to have scuffled with each other a time or two.  Be advised, a brownish, sometimes green substance is the weapon of choice.


On numerous occasions, I have had the pleasure of removing the rogue crime members from the floors of bathrooms and bedrooms, after what must have been a long day of mischief and placed them in the washing machine, hoping the spin cycle would give them a wake up call and clean up their act.  The two rogue pairs of underwear never got the message.


And so their time is up.


Their partners in crime have grown older.  They have outgrown their fellow crime partners.  They no longer need Spider-Man's help in peeing on toilet seats and giving wedgies.  They have moved on to bigger and better things.


They have entered the world of boxers, where briefs and airiness fight for their allegiance.  It is a two party world where you are either all in or all out.  You are either a Boxer Brief or you are a Boxer.  Their choice will follow them for the rest of their life.  What side they chose is their choice and their choice alone.  No one else can make that decision for them.  In my opinion, no side is better than the other.  Both the Boxer Briefs and the Boxers have their flaws.  Neither group can claim to be upstanding members of the male population. Pee will continue to be found on toilet seats.  Crime scene tape will have to be put up while the area is properly examined and the correct method of cleanup has occurred.  Wedgies will still occur in some areas of the house, out of sight from the parental figures that roam the hallways.  Infighting will still go on, only on a larger, massive scale.  The proper supplies will have to be administered on the skid marks so staining does not occur.  Sometimes I am able to save my criminal patients and sometimes they have to bare the battle stains.


Spider-Man, if you are out there listening, please, turn yourself in.  Both pairs of you.  It is time.  You have led a long, hard that I would never, ever want to live.  You have been places and seen things that I could never in my wildest dreams imagine.  Your time is up.  Your chemical weapons are gone.  The Boxer Briefs and Boxers got a hold of those long ago.  All you have left is a once in a great while shot at meeting up with your old partners, but even those chances are running dry.


You see, I have been caught up on the laundry for quite a while now...and is time you both come out of hiding.


(Which will be in roughly 25 minutes, when the dryer has stopped and I FINALLY remember to pick the two rogue Spider-Men out of the pile and place them in the garbage...)





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