There are literally dozens of readers of my blog.
Dozens.
And I appreciate every single one of you.
As a loyal reader, you already know a few things about me:
- I’m a Girl-Dad.
- I’m a grown-ass man.
- I know absolutely nothing about women.
Now before you nod in agreement — I have learned things about women. I am evolving.
Slowly.
Like a flip phone trying to become an iPhone.
Recently I’ve tackled:
Toilet seats.
Haircuts.
Boyfriends.
I remain… a work in progress.
But today, I want to discuss one BIG difference between men and women.
And it’s this:
How we handle new clothing. Specifically… underwear.
See, when I buy underwear, I buy it the way men have purchased underwear since the dawn of retail.
In a pack.
A sealed pack.
Factory sealed.
Hermetically secured.
Folded with military precision by someone who cares more than I ever will.
I do not buy open packs of underwear.
I have standards.
Yes, sometimes I set the bar low – that way I don’t disappoint people.
But even I have standards.
If the pack has been opened, rummaged through, or looks like someone treated it like a sample platter at Costco… I’m out.
A pack of underwear is not a “Skivvies Charcuterie Board”
So I get this pristine, unopened pack home.
I break the seal.
And those neatly folded undergarments go straight into the underwear drawer.
No ceremony.
No ritual.
No baptism (washing).
Drawer.
Now, for the record, my underwear journey has evolved.
As a boy: Tighty-whities.
As a young man: Boxers.
As a mature, distinguished, refined gentleman of a certain age: Boxer briefs.
Possibly TMI.
And no, there will be no pictures.
You’re welcome.
That would surely cancel the handful of subscribers I have painstakingly accumulated.
But here’s where things take a turn.
Apparently… women wash their underwear first.
First.
Before wearing them.
I was today-years-old when I realized this was a thing.
Now listen, I understand women have different… equipment.
Different requirements.
Different engineering specs when it comes to the “unmentionables.”
I get that.
But when I move my brand-new underwear from sealed pack to drawer, I am met with:
“Aren’t you going to wash those first?”
Nope.
THEY. ARE. CLEAN.
They go from sealed pack… to drawer… to butt.
That’s the supply chain.
Efficient. Streamlined. Direct-to-consumer.
Same with socks.
Brand new socks?
Straight to the feet.
Now technically speaking… aren’t socks underwear?
They’re worn under your shoes.
They cover parts that sweat.
They live in the same drawer. Sometimes.
I’m just asking the questions others might be afraid to ask.
But this is the difference.
Men see “factory sealed” and think:
“Approved for deployment.”
Women see “factory sealed” and think:
“What chemicals did this travel across the ocean with?”
One of us trusts the plastic wrap.
One of us assumes the plastic wrap is lying.
And that, my friends, is the big big difference.
Still evolving.
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