Photo by cottonbro studio / Pexels
I don’t know how the male underpants arrived on the stove—left burner, fortunately not turned on—but hope they were flung in a moment of the heedlessness I admire so much, and which it seems so difficult for us women, too responsible, to harried, to achieve.
A dear friend of mine just recommended a book called Of Boys and Men with a long subtitle echoing what we are hearing on all sides about their confusion and lostness. I don’t think I’ll read it, knowing a good deal about the topic from the inside out.
I expect though that this sudden chorus of concern may have little to do with the boys and men we all know, and more to do with our chronic worry: are they ALL RIGHT?
We all acknowledge that they are different from us, as they must be, but do we really accept the signs of this difference?
Even if the current sign is underpants on the stove?
Bard (AI) wrote this new poem about boys, men, and their underpants:
Boys and men, they all wear underpants,
Some are white, some are blue, some are pink.
They come in all shapes and sizes,
But they all serve the same purpose:
To keep us covered and comfortable.
Some boys and men are proud of their underpants,
They wear them with confidence and flair.
Others are more shy,
And they prefer to keep their underpants hidden.
But no matter what,
Underpants are a part of life.
They’re a reminder that we’re all human,
And that we all have something in common.
So next time you see a boy or man in underpants,
Don’t be afraid to smile.
After all, we’re all in this together.