Gary came into the room Thursday, while I was on the phone, hooked his thumbs into a worn-out hole in his pants, and silently tore his pants off his body.
He's done this before. Usually I applaud and gush, but as I say, I was on the phone.
This may explain why Friday he upped the ante. He walked in and began stripping to his own interpretation of '70s porn music, revealing ...
"Okay," I asked, "Why are you wearing Mormon underwear?"
The story begins when Gary was walking up a slushy hill to get to work, and slid face-first back down. His coat, shirt, pants, and underwear were drenched in mud, so he drove to the nearest mall to buy new clothes. (It's okay. He needed to replace the pants he tore up Thursday anyway.) When he got back to work and changed, he found not only that the three-pack of undies he bought were not all white (one red and one black were hidden in there), but that they were these girdle-shaped underwear. Evidently they are Jockey Boxer/Briefs. For the man who no longer takes gym class.
They look good on him. But, you can't get the true effect without the porn music and the bumping and grinding.
I really like Gary's new underwear.