Underwear, Escalators and Zombies

How long does underwear last?

 

That is a trick question, for some people a year or two is the answer, others figure a decade or two just about covers it and my way of thinking is that when there is no longer elastic on the waistband and holes worn out where the hole goes, then it is time to start thinking about replacements. I have also had to factor in that my ass has been getting larger over the years and it is now like putting ten pounds of fat in a five pound bag.

 

For the past couple of weeks I have been searching internet sites to find the elusive inexpensive, high quality, perfect fitting underwear. There are lots of options to pick from, but as we all know not all underwear fits the same. I have some bargain basement brand that for some inexplicable reason keeps moving further down my ass like I was some teenage hip hopper dickhead. So NO to that brand. Really, no to all brands other than Stanfields.

 

I mulled over making my own underwear, but I am not sure I could. Knowing me I would make it out of the cheapest fabric I could find. I am sure I would get used to burlap skivvies, but with brown cloth it would be impossible to see if I had a fart or a wet fart. The loose weave would give the boys nice air circulation I suppose.

 

Stanfields has been in business since 1856, is Canadian and I have to think they know what they are doing when it comes to underwear. I have been happy with their product for several decades and with any luck the underwear that I bought today will be covering my ass when I am laying in a coffin. The only thing I don’t like about the underwear is that the picture of the guy on the package is a little intimidating. There is no way I can match that guy’s package. I am going to have to keep it out of sight or I  will be reduced to tears of inadequacy.

 

Today I drove Louise to the doctors, and while she was being poked and prodded I popped into THE BAY to pick up some underwear. I don’t know why, but the Menswear Department is always on the second floor at THE BAY, so I headed to the  up escalator. It was making odd grinding noises and it has been a while since I stepped onto any escalator but I am pretty sure that wasn’t a normal sound. I stepped on and travelled back in time to when I was little and had to hold mom’s hand when I stepped onto any escalator. What a marvelous invention! Just like stairs but effort free. Can you imagine what people thought of the first escalators? Adults had to be cool, but us kids would go up one side and then run to the down side and then back up again. There was/is no down side! Well, there was but… I always loved it when the escalator was empty and I could walk down the up escalator or up the down escalator and stay in the same place . Well, until one of the sales staff told me to get off.

So, now I have four pair of Stanfields the I can put into rotation. I might just leave them in the wrapper in case I ever need pristine underwear. If the Zombie apocalypse happens then I will be able to run for my life in clean underwear. If I am surrounded by Zombies then I can soil clean underwear.

Ink…Pencil…Contact List…Memory

I realized just lately that I only remember three or four phone numbers, my home and cell numbers, my buddies home number and Louise’s cell…on a good day. For all of the other numbers that I use on a regular basis, I rely either on speed dial or my contacts list. I have a digital address book on my computer and on my cell I have all of the numbers that I could possibly need. If there is a number that somehow isn’t in my contact list then I just have to Google the person or business.

 

I suppose that with aging and potential lapses of memory this is a good thing. I am not convinced that I will be able to remember just how to access those contact lists, but then I wouldn’t be able to find a hard copy address book either. Hopefully, the people I need to talk to will willingly call me to either check up on my health or to verify that I have yet to die which may just be the same thing.

 

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time that I had thirty or forty phone numbers memorized. Of course there was no other option. If you wanted to call someone and were at home you would have an address book on the telephone table with the white and yellow page phone books provided free to every household in the country. The memory came into effect when you were out and about trying to track down your buddies that took off somewhere without letting you know. I always carried a few dimes so that I could call one friend or another that might know where everyone went.

 

I bought a wallet that came with a very small “little black phone book” that fit neatly into one of the card slots. I liked to think that I could fill it with the phone numbers of  girls that were attracted by my good looks and smooth patter. I think we all know that I filled it with those numbers I had trouble remembering, work and other business numbers that I needed from time to time.

 

A person’s life can be measured by the phone books that he uses at certain ages. A young friend recently moved from Calgary to Vancouver in September of 2020. We had to change the address in the book. In February there was another address change within Vancouver. We had to change the address in the book. A couple of days ago we found out that there would be yet another address change and we will have to change the address in the book. Young people move around and it takes a while for them to settle.

 

Because of this, I looked at some of our old address books and found that many addresses were written in pencil, erased and written in again. The names were written in pen, but the addresses and phone numbers were subject to change. Back in the day you couldn’t take your phone number with you always so often the number changed with the address.. I had one friend that I would put a replaceable strip of paper over the address and number lines because the paper itself was wearing out. That little black book I was talking about is almost illegible because I carried it in my wallet in a humid back pocket for years and the names and numbers blurred together on the pages that touched.

 

I had a special “work” little black book that I kept co-workers numbers in. . I didn’t often have to call them but it helped when I needed names to go with the faces. It was a nice find when preparing to write this blog, remembering some of the people I had forgotten. I carried it in my mailbag and it also had the office number in case some “Postal” emergency happened, like a vicious dog attack, injury or the need to be talked down from killing a customer.

 

Most people are written in ink these days as friends and family seem to be more stable. Any changes with the old farts can be handled with “white out”. I guess I will soon have to start writing the grand kids addresses in pencil because you can bet that I will be calling them, not the other way around. Their lives will be far too busy being lived and how will they be able to fit old Poppa in to the busy days.

 

So, what are you? Ink, pencil, contact list or memory?