Since the weather was at its prime this weekend, I decided to shirk any and all indoor duties and spend most of my time drinking outside with a bunch of my friends. As a result, I never got around to doing any laundry, which was piled high in my closet. While the absence of laundry left me more time to do other things, I realized this morning that I had left myself with little to wear. The khaki pants and button-down shirt could be quickly thrown in the dryer to eliminate wrinkles, and I had one pair of socks left. But the boxers drawer revealed my enemy--"Old Stripey." Old Stripey is a bastard. These boxers are only used as a last resort, very much like you would treat a can of gafilte fish that was mysterious placed in a survival kit after all of the granola bars had been eaten. For whatever reason, I've chosen to keep these terrible boxers. I think it's mostly because I've had to use them maybe 3 or 4 times in the past 8 years and as they lay dormant in the bottom of my drawer, I quickly forget about them. I'm no physicist, but I'm pretty sure that boxers shouldn't be able to completely change their phyiscal properties and morph into something as terrible as they are. It's a true Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation. When you hold them in your hand, they feel like any other cotton boxers. Even when you first pull them up to your waist, they don't reveal their insidious intent--luring you into a false sense of security. So much so, that I actually said to myself, "I don't even remember why I hated these so much. They feel fine today." But once I step far enough away from home to not warrant a quick return trip, they strike. They transform into a sand paper hammock that grabs at my tesicles and twists. I'll just be walking, not doing lunges or anything, and they'll leap from behind my taint to get my sack in a rear naked choke hold, forcing me to stop and inconspicuously reach into my pocket to free myself. This happens frequently throughout the day, and so far I am miserable. Focus: There's one piece of clothing that, for one reason or another, we own and entirely hate. Yet, we keep it. What's yours? Is it a vicious undergarment, or something a little more innocent?