Underwear

In the last two months, I have attended two weddings. This is two more than I’ve attended in the last five years. These two were a cousin of mine and a work friend of Kevin’s. Both were beautiful and I loved them.

Weddings are magical events by which I have always been hypnotized. The lover in me is transfixed with the beauty of the day, the power of the vows and the magnitude of the commitment.

The weddings I have recently attended have featured beautiful, young, physically fit brides. Their grooms were equally handsome, buff, and clearly in love.  So awesome to see. And I swear I’m not a creep, but I must admit to finding myself thinking about their underwear.

I wasn’t close enough to either of these bridal parties to be present for the dressing. So my beliefs are purely speculation. These young couples, beautiful and passionate, were likely wearing seductive, flattering, sexy underwear. Go for it. Enjoy your youth. Enjoy each other.

One of the magical milestones of marriage is when the underwear starts to change. Cotton steps up and lace takes a backseat. The honeymoon, as they say, is over.

Delivering a baby or dealing with some of the struggles leading up to that, will introduce a young couple to the shocking next step in underwear. This is the one size fits all fishnet ass hugger.  Let me explain.  If you have had any vaginal event, your lady parts will be covered by a fish net mesh,  bulging out, much like you will see if you offshore fishermen lifting their bountiful catch up from the sea. The bounty is your flesh and your spouse will show his love by walking you to the bathroom while your ass pockets out of these pants- and maybe your hemorrhoids.  Husbands might ask about the crotch of these “shorts”, given the necessity of wearing them.  Well, gents, there is a feminine napkin in place. In my head, a feminine napkin conjures up an image of something cloth, trimmed with lace, with which one would dab the corners of her mouth after sipping tea from a cup and saucer. This feminine napkin will come to look like a surfboard that transported a shark attack victim back to the beach.

Like all challenges, this phase passes. After all the babies are out, it is his turn. When Kevin got his vasectomy, he shamefully walked out of the doctor’s office, boxers in hand, saying, “ I didn’t read the pre op instructions. I totally have the wrong underwear.” I can’t be entirely sure, but I believe at that moment he was commando.  $35 dollars at Kohl's later and with images I’ll never be able to burn from my brain, he got the right underwear.

Life at that point goes to underwear truth or dare.  My advice to these beautiful newly married: put a message board on the hamper. Children make life beautifully busy and laundry becomes a somewhat mindless task.  Notes like, “Sorry, baby, I trusted a fart” or, “went out with the guys and had a platter of jalapeno poppers” would be an affirmative nod of respect to the laundry doer reaching into the hamper blindly. And you might want to help her lift that laundry basket because if she sneezes or laughs, there’ll be another unfortunate submission.

Underwear, like marital vows, will continuously be tested. Waistbands will get frayed just like nerves. There will be holes that at times will be left unattended until they get so big they cannot be ignored.

So why do I really care about underwear? I will tell you that I have discovered the underwear of undying love and ultimate romantic devotion.

Depends.

Let me introduce you to Ellie and Murray. Murray has advanced dementia and lives in a memory care unit of an assisted living facility.  Murray is ambulatory with assistance, incontinent and has a pervasive flat affect.

Until Ellie shows up. Ellie is just as old as Murray and has a Parkinsonian tremor that makes her speak like Kathryn Hepburn.  Ellie comes to see Murray every day. She pulls into the parking lot of his assisted living facility in her massive Lincoln Town Car and is lucky to find a spot. Ellie greets every staff member as she comes in and inquires genuinely about the events in their lives.  Ellie always has fresh clothes for Murray and a fresh package of Depends. When Ellie finally reaches Murray, he doesn’t acknowledge her. But she sits with him- to feed him.  And when it is time to change his “underwear”, she is there. And when that is done… when Murray is clean… Ellie shows her heart. Ellie reveals the small Baby Ruth candy bar she has had in her pocket. And the listless Murray takes it, and smiles. He looks at Ellie and smiles.

That smile is what keeps Ellie coming back. The Baby Ruth is her ace and she plays it masterfully.

And as I watch Murray’s smile at Ellie and I think of the lovely weddings I’ve attended, I understand the the relationship between sexy underwear and marital devotion is inversely proportional. The less sexy the garment, the more intense is the commitment. And that, I believe,  is lovely.