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An Oversight Of Underthings

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Dick exited the shower in fine but mellow spirits. He'd had a good night out and was ready to catch a few hours' sleep before his day job started.

Rooting around in his drawer, he was a little irritated not to find his favorite pair of Superman boxers. Instead, his fingers encountered the starchy fabric of something new. Puzzled, he drew it out.

He'd left only the bathroom light on, but he was used to discerning things in dim lighting, so it was with no difficulty that he recognized the pattern on the pair of boxer shorts he held out in front of him.


Groaning, he started to stuff them back in the drawer -- before thinking better of it after all. He yanked them on, then vaulted over the bed to land in front of the window he habitually used as a streetside entrance. Pushing it completely open, he yelled into the night, "Happy now?"

He held out his arms on either side of his hips to display the little yellow and black oval logos that peppered the unsolicited addition to his wardrobe.

"Just so you know!" he added, searching the rooftops with his eyes but of course not spotting anyone. "You're the only one who's acting like an idiot! He doesn't care!"

A whistle and a call of, "Yeah, you tell him, baby!" from below made him jump back in embarrassment. He banged the window shut.


A couple of weeks later, he found his Superman boxers, rolled in a ball and shoved in the back corner of his drawer where they certainly hadn't been last time he looked. He pulled them out, slightly skeptical, but found them to be the same thread-bare, butter-soft article of clothing as before.

Snorting to himself at his own folly, he put them back and pulled out the Batman boxers instead, now slightly dulled by repeated washings. A dozen times through the hot cycle had made them reasonably comfortable.

He flopped into bed and was snoring in no time.