Today, on a cool, breezy day late in the clean-clothes cycle, I face a dreaded perfect storm. Let me explain.
I have enough articles of clothing to last me two weeks without doing laundry. That means I have about 16 pairs of boxer shorts and about the same number of socks. Running out of boxers or socks is typically the only catalyst to for me to go to the laundry mat, since these are the only two critical elements of my wardrobe. I can wear the same pair of jeans until the cows come home, but god help me if I try to wear the same pair of boxers two days in a row.
As I am coming towards the end of my clean-clothes cycle, today I had to choose between the last two pairs of boxer shorts. It was a choice between the old pair, with the elastic worn and tattered, or the pair with the liberal fly opening. I chose the pair with the big opening. Now, boxers with a huge hole for peeing are all well and good, except for the fact that my member pops out of the fly on an average of five times a day. My penis comes out of my boxers and enters the land between boxers and jeans. Frankly, this occurrence is usually more exciting than anything. Nothing like a good ‘penis rubbing up against the cold inside of my zipper’ to put an extra kick in my step. No, I don’t walk around like this all day (I always remedy the situation in the bathroom post-haste), but hey, it’s fun, OK?
But not today. No my friends, not today. Because of a jeans mix up that happened earlier in the week, I’m also stuck wearing a pair of back up jeans. Jeans that are usually out of the rotation because of various technical problems. The jeans with a loose fly that always falls down. I have underwear with a huge opening and pants with a zipper that comes down on its own accord. My penis will breach the surface of both my boxers and my jeans. The perfect storm. I’m not talking about that movie with George Clooney. I’m talking about a potential situation in which my Johnson sees the light of day in a public setting.
“Look at the latest models, sir. We’ve got an underwear pee-hole moving from West to East at an alarming rate. Coincidentally, we have a jean zipper that is coming down from the North. Should these two intersect, well…”
“The perfect storm,” I say. “Utter catastrophe.”
I first noticed it on the train this morning. A shiver went down my back as a larger than normal draft came in through my zipper. Boom. There I sat, my zipper mere inches away from labeling me as a sex offender.
“NO OFFICER. NO. I swear it was the perfect storm. I didn’t mean to expose myself to an entire train car.”
“Tell it to the judge, freak.”
There are certain contingency plans set in place once the potential for a perfect storm has been realized. First, I un-tuck my shirt. This looks mangy in the workplace, but gives me just enough coverage. However, this defense is about as affective as a New Orleans’ levee wall. Second, I tug at my jeans zipper, making sure its up, about every 15 seconds. This action causes me to look weird, and draws attention to my crotch area. Both of these methods are stop gap measures, and there is no fool-proof way to prevent the perfect storm.
So I am in it people. The eye of the beast. Pray for me.
I have enough articles of clothing to last me two weeks without doing laundry. That means I have about 16 pairs of boxer shorts and about the same number of socks. Running out of boxers or socks is typically the only catalyst to for me to go to the laundry mat, since these are the only two critical elements of my wardrobe. I can wear the same pair of jeans until the cows come home, but god help me if I try to wear the same pair of boxers two days in a row.
As I am coming towards the end of my clean-clothes cycle, today I had to choose between the last two pairs of boxer shorts. It was a choice between the old pair, with the elastic worn and tattered, or the pair with the liberal fly opening. I chose the pair with the big opening. Now, boxers with a huge hole for peeing are all well and good, except for the fact that my member pops out of the fly on an average of five times a day. My penis comes out of my boxers and enters the land between boxers and jeans. Frankly, this occurrence is usually more exciting than anything. Nothing like a good ‘penis rubbing up against the cold inside of my zipper’ to put an extra kick in my step. No, I don’t walk around like this all day (I always remedy the situation in the bathroom post-haste), but hey, it’s fun, OK?
But not today. No my friends, not today. Because of a jeans mix up that happened earlier in the week, I’m also stuck wearing a pair of back up jeans. Jeans that are usually out of the rotation because of various technical problems. The jeans with a loose fly that always falls down. I have underwear with a huge opening and pants with a zipper that comes down on its own accord. My penis will breach the surface of both my boxers and my jeans. The perfect storm. I’m not talking about that movie with George Clooney. I’m talking about a potential situation in which my Johnson sees the light of day in a public setting.
“Look at the latest models, sir. We’ve got an underwear pee-hole moving from West to East at an alarming rate. Coincidentally, we have a jean zipper that is coming down from the North. Should these two intersect, well…”
“The perfect storm,” I say. “Utter catastrophe.”
I first noticed it on the train this morning. A shiver went down my back as a larger than normal draft came in through my zipper. Boom. There I sat, my zipper mere inches away from labeling me as a sex offender.
“NO OFFICER. NO. I swear it was the perfect storm. I didn’t mean to expose myself to an entire train car.”
“Tell it to the judge, freak.”
There are certain contingency plans set in place once the potential for a perfect storm has been realized. First, I un-tuck my shirt. This looks mangy in the workplace, but gives me just enough coverage. However, this defense is about as affective as a New Orleans’ levee wall. Second, I tug at my jeans zipper, making sure its up, about every 15 seconds. This action causes me to look weird, and draws attention to my crotch area. Both of these methods are stop gap measures, and there is no fool-proof way to prevent the perfect storm.
So I am in it people. The eye of the beast. Pray for me.
And should it come out, I promise you it won't make a good showing. It's frigid out.
1 comment:
wrap it with some Paper towel and tape, then you don't have to worry about any tip peepage
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