tfw is a mini personal essay series I’m try to do on Tuesdays to recount second-person experiences of feelings and experiences we all have. Or maybe I’m the only one who has them?
Sometimes, your shorts are tight. That’s just a fact of being a person who wears clothes: sometimes your clothing is a little too snug for your liking, be it from a recent wash or from your being bloated. It happens and you are used to it. It’s not a big deal. You wear the right underwear and you are problem free.
What is a big deal is when you are too in a hurry and you forget to wear complimentary underwear. You are instead wearing accidentally long undershorts beneath your shorts. Now your panties are in bunches.
They’re knotted up on the left side. They’re rolled up into themselves, riding under in an inconvenient space under your ass cheek and under a testicle. It’s like a small newspaper is down there. It’s like someone tied a little rope around your upper thigh. Can everyone see it? It feels like everyone can see it. There’s a clothed snake in your ass.
You walk and you try to knock the bunch out. You pull your shorts up and your undershorts down. That just moves the uncomfortable gig to the right, forcing your overshorts in one direction and your undershorts in another. It’s like your are wearing two different outfits and they are both walking in opposite directions but, now, they are taking your balls along in those different directions too.
What a mess—but a small mess, a private mess, a little something that only you are aware of. Should you excuse yourself to run away to the bathroom to fix this situation? Or ride it out, in the hopes that it absolves itself? You can wait. You’ll cross your legs and recross your legs. You’ll switch from one cheek to another in your seat (even though your left cheek is now sitting atop of that little rope, that little speed bump on your butt’s back).
You look around and, when no one is looking, you rocket your hand in a fist down the front of your shorts. It’s a quick operation—a slide in, a tug, a slide out—that no one will notice. It’s a snap. You do a final check for clearance—left, right, left, right: go, down, pull, pull, pull, out. You remove your clammy hand and sit on it, not making a show of what just happened. Now you have to wash your hands. You should have just gone to the bathroom. Is someone going to shake your hand? You have to wash your hands.
You put the hand in your pocket and you get up and you walk really quickly and you make no eye contact with anyone as to not initiate a handy interaction and you go to the bathroom, into a stall, and you stand: time to unbunch, for good. How? Do you take the too long underwear off and freeball? Do you just readjust, reset your situation, and be done with it?
You unbutton and unzip and you stand tugging on your underwear and you pull up your shorts. Like the opposite of shorts or socks bundling themselves up at your feet, refusing to come off, you’ve done it again. There’s a rope around your buttcheek. Your balls are tugged. You’ve bunched up again.
Next time you wear shorts this short or this tight, remember: wear briefs—not boxer briefs. A simple adjustment in style makes all the difference in comfort.