Monte

I wonder what my mother must think when she folds my underwear.

Whitey tighties were all I had growing up—they were the only underwear my mother ever bought me (it was only when I was really young did she buy the cartoon underwear: Scooby Doo and Batman). It wasn’t until I was 12-years-old that my mother begin allowing me some input in my wardrobe, and I remember the first underwear I ever picked out that weren’t whitey tighties were black, Old Navy briefs. When I showed them to my mother, she squinted a little and asked why I wanted black underwear all of a sudden (as if I had been the one picking out the whitey tighties all along). I played dumb and shrugged, “I guess I just want something different.” In reality, my horny 12-year-old brain was thinking, “I’m gonna look so hot in these!”

After I graduated high school and got a job, a car, and my own credit card, I went on my first shopping spree alone—without my mother. One of the first things I did was stroll by the underwear department. I remember my first string bikini like it was yesterday.

Today, my taste in underwear has become even more exotic. Several months ago I bought a pair of bright, red briefs which are mesh from the mid-buttocks to the waist band. And then just last week I bought a pair of maroon boxer briefs made completely of mesh.

My mother normally doesn’t do my laundry; only recently has she started washing and folding my clothes for me. I think she’s bored and has run out of things to clean around the house. Once a week when I come home from work, I’ll see my shirts and pants hanging in my closet with my underwear and socks folded neatly on my desk. And then it dawned on me one day: I wonder what my mother must think when she folds my mesh underwear.