What Lies Beneath.

I cannot die today. It cannot happen. I cannot get hit by a car, or get caught in the crossfire of some drive-by shooting, or fall off of a bridge,
because I am wearing the world's scariest underpants.
They are like the knickers my grandmother wears.
They surpass my belly button, but are peculiarly thuglife-baggy in the posterior. If my lifeless body were fished out of a river, they only thing anyone would notice would be the enormous 16th century balloon breeches, which probably would have been responsible for my body turning up in the first place.
It's funny and disturbing simultaneously.

I got them for Christmas last year. When my mom asked me if there was anything I needed in the way of personal necessities (huzzah for practical gift giving), I responded that I needed socks and undies. You know-- practical, comfortable, utilitarian skivies for those under-the-weather days when showering and wearing make-up are done merely out of consideration for the rest of the world. Let me tell you what I was not prepared for:

THESE:

Would you believe they have the audacity to have lace-trim?

Somebody needs to do laundry...