Monday, November 28, 2011

Women's underwear: It used to be sexy now it's a pain in the ass

For 30 seconds I was contemplating writing a blog about the horrible realization that not all women's underwear is sexy. Every relationship hits the point where the idiot male realizes that Hugh Hefner and Victoria's Secret have been lying to them and that real women wear lingerie .03% of the time and every time it's a little depressing. I am fully aware that while the kind of woman who actually does wear garters and stockings and all that jazz would be enormously sexy she would also be unbelievably high maintenance. If someone puts that much effort everyday into clothes that, hopefully, at most 2 people will see they aren't going to be the kind of woman that accepts my 5 t shirt rotation and house pants. And as I started to think about the entire blog I could write going on and on about unrealistic expectations and that nonsense I realized two very important things.

1. Every comic on Earth has already done 15 minutes about this.
2. That isn't what infuriates me about women's underwear.

What I find absolutely asinine about women's underwear is the lack of uniformity in shape. Every pair is like a unique little snowflake and slightly different than the others, even the ones that are supposed to be identical. This little idiosyncrasy makes folding them virtually impossible. There is no pattern, there is no set way to do it, every damn pair requires a slightly different technique and this is maddening! Actually this goes for all of my girlfriend's wardrobe. None of her shirts (or blouses to be a fancy pants) are shaped the same either.

When I'm folding my clothes I know that I will have to perform one of 4 different actions: The T Shirt Fold, The Pants Fold, The Boxer Fold or The Sock Rollup. That's it. For her clothes I have to go about each one in a whole new manner. "Oh, these are the slightly wider panties that I have to fold an extra time," or "This shirt has the big neck so it's folded thus." Folding laundry is supposed to be a mindless activity that any moron can accomplish but now that I have to deal with all these chick clothes it's become as complicated as Euclidean geometry, whatever the hell that is. Instead of letting my mind wander and contemplate zombie survival skills or to plan my betting ticket for this weeks slate of NFL games I have to dedicate my full mental capacity to folding a pair of boring white underpants. Then I think about all my teenage fantasies of women in complicated lingerie with snaps, straps, bows and all sorts of other exciting junk hanging off of it and I am thankful that it is just a fantasy. If I had to fold a load of laundry filled with those it's conceivable that I would never finish.

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