I was in the midst of doing my laundry and packing for a trip to the beach for Memorial Day when it occurred to me: it’s time to change my underwear.
In folding my laundry, I began to notice the overwhelming number of pairs of boxers in my possession. I must have 40 pairs of boxers. (Why are they called “pairs”, by the way? They aren’t in two pieces or anything. Hmmm. Maybe it’s just me.)
Anyway, it’s a whole big drawer full, I assure you. And some of them are at least 10 years old, possibly pushing 12 years. For the most part, they are still serviceable and whole but the older are certainly looking a little thread bare.
Being the deep and insightful individual that I am, I’m beginning to think my underpants might possibly serve as a metaphor for my life. I tend to hold on to lots of things that might have passed their prime. Relationships, for example.
Nah. That can’t be right. I’m sure I just have too many pairs of underpants.