Written by Nancy Malcolm
“Babe,” I hollered from the bedroom while folding laundry. “You really need new underwear. I can almost read the newspaper through these!”
I heard his footsteps and felt him lean against the door frame as he sighed, “They’re O.K. But, I guess you could get me another pair whenever you’re out. You know what I like. The usuals.”
And that, my friends, is how a simple conversation prompted an international experience.
Full coverage? Mid-rise? Boxers, briefs or compression? Silk? Cotton or polyester? These were the choices as I stood in the men’s department at Kohl’s among the stacks of underwear. I knew my husband had said ‘the usuals,’ but I was thinking this was a perfect time to spice things up. When I returned home with an assortment of new silky, multicolored, longer length undies, I really thought he would embrace the change. Instead, with a deer in the headlights look, he asked, “Didn’t they have mine?”
I dumped out the new packages and said, “Please? Try it, you might like it .” 
I have to give him credit, seeing that he tried to envision himself as the model on the front of the package: slim, flat stomach and handsome. He stood in front of the mirror holding his stomach in and flexing his biceps. “O.K.,” he said, and agreed to give it a go. Truthfully, what else could I ask for? “Hubba-hubba,” I crooned and then gave a little whistle just to seal the deal.
As the days went on, he would incorporate a new pair here and there, but I could tell he missed his tighty whities. “These are a little too slick (aka silky) and too long. And, aren’t they too tight?”
“They might feel tight to someone who has been wearing underwear with questionable elastic,” I countered.
Finally, one morning he sauntered into the kitchen, where I was pouring my coffee. “Hey now,” he sang. “These are very snazzy!”
“Those?” I asked.
“Yea, these sexy French ones,” he said.
“French ones? Did I buy those?” I asked.
“Yea, see the tag? Sen~ah’ I like these. They’re perfect.”
“Babe,” I said. “You’ve got them on inside out. It’s HANES. Sen~ah’ is Hanes backward.”
And with a sheepish grin he said, “You know I’ve never been good with too many choices, and besides, I hate change.”
Suddenly, I realized I may have pushed him out of his comfort zone, away from the security of his tighty-whities, but it was worth it. My little puffed pastry was trying something new, even if it was inside out.
Viva la Hanes!! Baby, Viva la Hanes!!
Sittin' Ugly Sistahs 