Here’s to all the gentlemen out there about to be in mourning today or tomorrow, thanks to a Father’s Day gift of new underwear and the requisite clean-out of the decrepit ones that have served their time.

But it’s hard to say goodbye.

I wouldn’t write about it, except I had the same experience a few weeks back. The only difference: I let go of my favorites of my own free will.

The time had come. Yet still I mourned.

There they were in the garbage can next to the toilet. I almost retrieved them and put them in the laundry pile for one more washing, but nope. I held strong.

I wrote a poem for the occasion, to memorialize my great loss.

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“Goodbye, Favorite Panties: An Ode”

Goodbye, favorite panties.
It’s time for you to go.
You’ve paid your dues, your work is done.
You did your job, you know.

You were big enough to cover me
And hold my hammies in.
No up the crack or down the back:
You stayed in place, my friend.

You grew with me when I was puffed
And bloated, once a month,
Or dinners, where I ate too much
You gave and stretched enough.

I wore you ‘til the threads were bare
But comfy, still you were.
And then a tiny hole appeared:
Alas, the end was sure.

I almost put you in the pile
Of laundry one more time,
But now you’re in the garbage can.
No longer are you mine.

There’ll never be another pair
I’ll love as much as you.
So goodbye, favorite panties:
Au revoir, so long, adieu!

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Ridiculous, isn’t it! I need to write such nonsense from time to time. This world is hard, and I must laugh. If we all laughed at ourselves more and didn’t take things so seriously, we might find it easier to be a little kinder to others.

But I digress: clearing out the underwear drawer is no time to be kind. You must be ruthless, hunting down any pair with wallered-out crotches, shot elastic, or threadbare patches. You might be able to get away with a hole or two, but if they look like they’ve been used for target practice for one too many Fourth of July fireworks shows, then it’s hasta la vista, baby!

Seriously, soldiers in World War II had better looking underwear than what some of y’all have in your chest of drawers right now.

Throw them out. Make no excuses. They’re not fit for the Goodwill donation box either. 

But sometimes it is perfectly acceptable to save them for some other purpose.

In the recesses of my sometimes-foggy memory, it seems I recall that tell-tale blue striped elastic band from more than one pair of tighty-whities being used in a vegetable garden to tie up tomatoes.

I also remember once seeing a thrifty young man who had used the same type of striped elastic band to create a sun visor. He was manning a station at a zipline course, and I don’t fault him for his contribution to the conservation of natural resources. 

Believe me, the effort did not go unnoticed.

If we’re ever needing extra elastic again, due to a shortage, a depression, or a war, then we might all need a stash of waistbands from old undies.

But we ain’t there yet. 

Where we are is almost to Father’s Day, a time to celebrate the hard-working fellows in our lives for all that they do for their loved ones. All the fathers and father figures out there have been so busy working and providing that most haven’t given a passing thought to the shape of their undershorts.

The least we could do is buy them a pack or two.

And maybe throw in a tie, a bucket of golf balls, or a new power tool.

It might make saying goodbye a little bit easier.