Our Vice-president of Marketing freely admits, pursuant a reckless mention of undergarments on this blog, that he hasn't upgraded his nether wardrobe since the early eighties.
Not that anyone needs to know.
This tells you two things about the man:
1. He goes for classic styling.
2. He's still the same size.
Remarkably, he's married. I have not met his esposa, but there is every reason to believe that she is both normal and well-adjusted.
She must really like that timeless look.
LOOSE COTTON COMFORT
In reflecting on my own underwear, I realize that none of it is pre-Obama. Not even a shred. My unmentionables have been replaced several times since I started living in San Francisco, from which you might deduce that the San Francisco climate is bad for underpants, what with the fog and all.
Or that I've left it casually lying around in different places.
Absentmindedly forgot that it was there.
Commando during meetings.
Sudden nude urge.
This is not true.
I am a stylish man underneath my outer garments. And exceptionally fond of hip and with it boxers.
Nothing says "representing" better than poncing around the apartment, when my apartment mate is out, in clean comfortable underpants. Wear and tear are minimal because I am more limber than other men my age.
You'll just have to take my word for it, as there are no witnesses.
Invitations to a private fashion show will not be sent.
Feel free to imagine what it looks like.
Indeed, it is all of that.
Zesty.
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