Just Looking for Underwear

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Sam loves the Outback steakhouse. It has a little to do with the grilled shrimp on the barbie, a little to do with the ribs, a lot to do with the time, with his Aunt Corinne's urging, that he ate a loaf of bread so that his Uncle Chuck didn't get a piece.

It has a lot to do with Uncle Chuck and Aunt Corinne.

So, we headed there for my birthday dinner on Saturday.

Of course, in this struggling economy it is impossible to get a seat in any restaurant at 5:00 on a Saturday so we were handed a buzzer and told it would take a half an hour. We headed down the block...both kids without jackets in 50 degree weather (because they're morons) (the other dork is at college) and we hit the local department store.

I hate shopping like that. Just roaming aisles, looking for crap that I don't really need.

Any who ha...

I checked the underwear rack. Who doesn't need underwear from time to time?

This is what I saw looking back at me:


I was looking for a shot that most resembled me. After all, those undergarments most likely wouldn't fit me in such a manner.

And then it hit me.

Why don't they have real models?

You know, guys with real abs, trying to squeeze into those tighty-whities.

I picked a couple of the packages up and turned them around.

I actually turned the photos away from any potential shoppers.

Come on guys, who needs the women to be looking at those photos?

Then they'd think that those guys are actually around out there and that is how guys are supposed to look in their underwear.

That's crap.

I decided against buying any. Instead I picked up a pair of warm winter gloves and a new pasta pan.

The buzzer finally went off.

I didn't even think of those underwear models once as I polished off my 24 ounce Porterhouse and Sam slammed a rack of ribs.

Aunt Corinne and Uncle Chuck would've been proud.

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