Wait, let me explain.

It occurred to me the other day – because someone blatantly said it to me – that I have an awful lot of odd stories related to my underwear. For example, in the span of a decade I’ve had literally all of my underwear stolen from my house, have chased my underwear down the streets of Hoboken, have gotten patted down by a security guard at the airport who discovered that my giant, non-fitting underwear was around my thighs instead of, you know, where underwear usually goes, and just yesterday, I threw my underwear at a perfect stranger at the gym.

Ok, he’s not a perfect stranger. He’s a guy I’ve talked to a bit and maybe accidentally asked out and then stood up on a date and then I threw my underwear at him. Also, it was pink. And I threw it at his feet. Whatever, totally fine.

So, you see, the name of this blog makes a lot more sense once you understand just how big a role underwear plays in my life.

Something else. I call them “underpants” and didn’t know that was weird until this conversation happened:

Me: “So, I think I need to buy new underpants because mine keep falling down when I walk.”
Courtney: “Yeah, that’s a problem. Also, did you just call them underpants?”
Me: “Yeah, why, what do you call them?”
Courtney: “Well, when I’m talking to my 5 year old I call them underpants. As an adult, they’re underwear.”
Me: “Does everyone know that?”
Courtney: “Yes. Everyone who’s not in elementary school.”
Me: Silence
Courtney: “Have you called them underpants out loud to other people?”
Me: “I think I have. Yeah, that has happened.”

So you see, the title of this blog makes perfect sense now. And I would suspect that underpants
 underwear stories will be sprinkled throughout what will definitely be really super-interesting stories about my really super-interesting life. Did I mention I live with my cat?

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