Please, just let me keep my pants on

Scott Hollifield
Published: April 18, 2008

I had a decision to make: Should I slip into the bright red boxer briefs, dig through the dirty clothes or go commando?

Several factors — an unpacked suitcase, a pile of dirty laundry and a run of failed elastic waistbands — had created the perfect storm of undergarment choices. I had nothing clean left to wear except the red underwear.

As a rule, I’m conservative in my under attire. Oh, I’ll stray from the crewneck to the occasional V at times and even don the Santa-print boxers for the holidays, but mostly it’s personal apparel that would
be right at home in Ward Cleaver’s dresser drawer (you know, the drawer where he hid the December 1953 Playboy that Eddie Haskell stole and sold to Lumpy Rutherford in the never-aired episode “Ward
Stomps A Mud Hole In Eddie And Walks It Dry”).

How did I come to own a pair of bright red boxer briefs?

Several years ago, I wrote about buying cheap underwear in bulk every decade or so. A reader, either moved by the elegance of my prose or convinced I needed help dressing myself, sent along several
packs of new underwear in various styles. Believing one generous underwear deed deserved another, I gave some away to friends and relatives and kept a couple that suited my taste.

The pack containing the bright red boxer briefs presented a problem. I knew I would probably never wear them, yet I was uncomfortable giving another man a pair of flamboyant skivvies as a gift.

“Tom, here’s a pair of bright red boxer briefs to celebrate our close friendship. Go ahead, try them on. Let’s have a look.”

And my frugal nature would not allow me to throw away a new pair of underwear, no matter how bright red they were or extra clingy they appeared to be. I even opened the pack one day, convinced that I
was secure enough to don the crimson undies and greet the day, but I lost my nerve and stuffed them in the drawer, where they mingled for years with their more conservative cousins, watching them come and go and socializing with the occasional sock that strayed from the drawer below.

Then came the day of the perfect storm. I had somewhere to be — quickly — and there in the drawer was only a pair of bright red boxer briefs. Even the Santa-print novelty shorts were missing, perhaps mistakenly packed away in the attic during the hasty post-holiday purge of all things Christmassy.

“I can do this,” I told myself. “I don’t have to dig through the dirty clothes or go commando. I am secure enough to don these crimson undies and greet the day.”

And that is what I did, spending some of the most uncomfortable hours of my life praying that I or someone else would not be forced to remove my pants.

Please, no company-mandated strip search to get to the bottom of missing office supplies.

“I heard they never found the staplers, but a guy in HR says Hollifield is into exotic underwear.”

“I always pegged him for a bright red boxer briefs guy.”

Please, no wreck.

“You’re going to be OK, Mr. Hollifield, but we have to cut these pants off and — whoa! Steve, we’ve got a Code 71. Repeat, a Code 71.”

“Bright red boxer briefs?”

“That is affirmative.”

Luckily, I made it through the day without having to remove my pants. The red boxer briefs soon moved back into the drawer with their more conservative — and freshly laundered — cousins. I still couldn’t make myself throw away a nearly new pair of underwear, no matter how bright red they were or clingy they turned out to be.

At least the bright red boxer briefs got to see the world for once. I’m just glad the world didn’t get to see them.

Scott Hollifield is editor/general manager of The McDowell News in Marion, N.C. Contact him at P.O. Box 610, Marion, N.C. 28752 or e-mail .