“This was a stupid idea.” Sam only realized he had made the declaration out loud when the man at the other end of the aisle looked up sharply then walked quickly away. “Great,” Sam muttered, “as if I didn’t feel ridiculous enough already.”
At least now he was alone. Just him and an entire wall of underwear, each plastic sealed package printed with a picture of, well, a package. Men with single digit body fat and glossy six pack posed on each one. Sam worked hard to keep in shape, but he knew that he looked nothing like any of these models. He briefly started to speculate on how he measured up to them in other areas, but quickly decided not to dwell on it. He was already thinking far too much about underwear – better to stick with color and style than to think about how it shaped his own package.
“Not that anyone is going to see it anyway,” he grumbled.
The other customer, who had apparently been lingering at the endcap, peaked around the corner to see what was really going on with the strange man talking to himself in the underwear aisle. Perhaps it was when he saw the sidearm at Sam’s hip that he decided it really wasn’t the best time to pick out new underwear and nearly ran to the other end of the store.
Sam barely noticed him. He was too busy trying to figure out whether it was significant that the model on the package of boxers had a beard. Were boxers more rugged? His department still didn’t allow full beards, but maybe he could grow a mustache – something he had always resisted before. Mustache’s seemed to scream either hipster or cop. He definitely didn’t feel like a hipster, and while he wasn’t ashamed of being a police officer, but he also didn’t like broadcasting “cop” to the world these days.
He shuffled down the aisle, checking what other offerings were available. Here he was right at home with the boxer briefs he always bought. He almost involuntarily reached for the same pack of grays he typically bought. It was almost impossible to reconcile the image of the sculpted glutes on the packaging with pudgy middle aged form he had found dead on a living room floor. But it was the same underwear, and it was the same he was wearing now. He adjusted his motion, picking up a set of black underwear instead. Would changing the color of his underwear change him? Would it change him enough just to change the color? Did he even want to change? Sam put the underwear back and continued down the aisle.
Briefs: what he had warn as a child and stopped wearing in middle school because of the chaffing. It was what Kit thought he should wear for some reason. What reason, was it sexy? Hadn’t he read an article about it being too restrictive? Maybe even lowering his sperm count? But why did THAT even matter?
Printed boxers: Weren’t cartoon underpants for kids? He had never had a pair of Superman underwear like one of his friends in first grade, but he had never felt like he was missing anything either. Now he could get any number of superheroes. Also donuts, sloths, galaxies, rainbows, paisley, and more. A deep part of him cringed away from the flashy images. Even if no one would ever see this, he worried he would feel uncomfortable with so much color.It’s just underwear, right?
Why do we need so many choices?
Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked and saw that his father was calling. The phone continued to buzz in his palm as he red the name “Dad” over and over. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He knew what his dad would have to say, and it wouldn’t make him feel any better. Worse, he didn’t want to answer the questions his father would ask.
So, Sam turned back to the wall of cotton and nylon. “Fine,” he muttered. “One of each.”
* * *
Story by Gregory M. Fox
Gregory M. Fox 