Weird Underwear

I went to bed about 3 hours ago.  I turned on the TV per usual to wind down, then went on to paint my nails.  I finished them, watched all of Catch Me If You Can, and proceeded to toss and turn.  My head hurts and my stomach is killing me.  The smell of BBQ chicken is still filling the apartment from dinner and it's making it worse.  Why do I tell you all this when my topic is weird underwear?  I start to remember things when I can't sleep, and this story happens to be one of them.

In high school I hung out with a few close friends.  One of them, Amber, happened to have another friend, Amy, that didn't quite like me (not sure why to this day, as we get along great now), but was with Amber and I a lot.  We would often just drive around when we were bored, and on one occasion, we happened to go to Amy's sister's apartment.  She lived with her boyfriend of the moment, and when we arrived, she was folding clothes.

We basically stood around in the living room and watched her very young son get into things he wasn't supposed to while she did laundry.  Amber happened to mention how very not fond she was of the boyfriend, and so did Amy.  The sister just rolled her eyes and continued to fold laundry, which was when the underwear came up.

"What are those?" Amber asked, point to a pair of blue leopard bikini briefs.

"Underwear," the sister said laughing.  "Why?"

"I really hope they're yours," Amber replied.

"No, they're actually [boyfriend]'s," sister corrected.

I hadn't met the boyfriend then, but I almost died laughing.  So did Amy and Amber.  Blue leopard print bikini briefs for a supposedly straight guy?  Excuse me if I insert the term LOL right here.  It was only right we made sure a few (hundred) times that he really indeed was straight.  I'd never met the dude but I was already second guessing, based on his underwear.

Several months later, I happened to meet the boyfriend.  He was a paramedic and was driving the ambulance in the Fourth of July parade, and might I add that he was gorgeous.  Of course, I was 16 at the time, so anything with bleach blonde tips in his hair and hazel eyes would catch my eye, but really, the boyfriend was very cute.  As soon as I admitted it to Amber and Amy though, they were disgusted.  They didn't think so because they didn't like him (I'm going to assume this is because they both basically grew up around him, and you know how siblings can hate on each other's flings, especially with an age difference involved).  I still thought boyfriend was gorgeous.

Fast-foward several (6) years later.  I'm at the bar, and I happen to be avoiding a stalker that I met a few nights before at a club.  It was a very, very mean joke played on me by a sort of crush I had at the time, but somehow I ended up getting stalker at my apartment instead of my crush, and anyhow, stalker was now showing up everywhere I went, it seemed, and this night was no different.  I was trying to hide behind friends, dodge between tables, run to the bathroom, anything, just to make sure he didn't see me.  I failed at one point, at was nowhere near anyone to hide me.

I happened to be standing next to a crowd of people that seemed to know all my other friends, though, and one of them heard me when I said, "Oh, Christ, hide me."  The guy turned around, and lo and behold, it was sister's boyfriend of past.  He laughed and said, "From who?"  And immediately put his arm around me.

This, I thought, was just soooo...weird.  Several months before this had happened, he added me on MySpace, thinking I was someone he used to work with (the ironic part is, I was mistaken for her several times after high school, and not only that but- she was another good friend of mine for years).  So when he recognized me finally at the bar, after stalker had disappeared, he made a comment about it.  "Not Alison, but...Nicolette."  Yes, I thought.  He remembered my name!  He was still gorgeous as hell in my eyes, and six years of maturing for me had not changed it.  Although he was obviously older, I didn't mind one bit.  We spent the rest of the night talking with each other, and I wound up giving him my number. 

At this moment in time, I wasn't thinking about his underwear.  All of that totally slipped my mind as I gave this fine specimen my digits and crossed my fingers he called.  I didn't have long to wait, because if my memory serves me correctly (and it usually does), he called that very night, and wanted to chill.  We were both sober so I invited him back to my apartment at the time, which I shared with Amber (ironic, seeing as she never could stand him).

First thing that came out of her mouth when he came in was, "Fuck me."  And she left the room.  He laughed.  I guess they didn't like each other.  However, I didn't give a crap.  He was here.  To see me.  And hang out.  How incredibly cool. 

The first few nights we hung out we did nothing.  We watched TV, listened to music, drank a few beers.  That was about it.  I even remember him staying the night the first time and me saying, "I'm not sleeping with you."  And he said, "I didn't plan on it."  So innocent.  Of course that all changed eventually, which brings me to the point of this late night/early morning blog.

The first night we actually, eh hem, got down to business, I laughed.  I laughed.  He stripped off his pants, and there they were- the weird underwear from yonder years.  They were still blue, except this time, they were silk.  I'm sorry, but there is nothing sexy about a man wearing blue silk bikini briefs that could be mine (unless they really are mine). 

Later after we had finished our fling, Amber and I had a girls' night in where we discussed this event.  I had failed (purposely) to mention the underwear during the fling because I didn't want to get shit for it.  Eventually it had to come out though.

"So, you know [boyfriend] right?  Remember when we were hanging out?"

"Yeah.  Terrible time for me.  I didn't leave my room for a month."  (Pretty much true, too.)

"Well, he still wears girl's underwear."

Amber wasn't surprised.  However, she was shocked I still got into bed with him.  The thing is-

It's not the weird underwear that matters.  It's how we use what's under them that matters.