My mother always made sure that we were wearing clean underwear before we left the house and that we washed our feet before we went to bed. She said that we could get into a car accident or need to go to the hospital at any given time, and we needed to be clean from butt to toe when (not if) it happened. I know that this was a common concern among mothers at that time (apparently, someone's child had been in an accident and they all learned by way of the grapevine that the child was wearing dirty drawers) and apparently it dates all the way back to the 50s because this entire chapter is dedicated to the topic.
According to Rule #4, "Perfectly ironed knickers, starched shirts and spit-polished shoes won't hide a mother's shame if and when her young'un ventures out into the world sporting day-old unmentionables." The solution, according to the chapter, is to teach Little Timmy to change his briefs on a regular basis. In my opinion, the solution is to teach Timmy to clean his bottom a little better and to better monitor the difference between a toot and poop pain (women are SO much better at this!). I understand that "sharts" happen from time to time. As mothers and wives, we are eyewitnesses to this on a weekly basis when we wash and fold underwear.
On my commute to work this morning, my favorite radio show was featuring a comedian who will be performing at the Looney Bin tonight. He, along with the two male radio hosts, were discussing a list of 30 things that a person should be able to do or possess to live on their own by age 30. One of the top 10 things was to own enough underwear to make it through one week. The number varies by individual, apparently. Some people need more, others less. The comedian said that he had at least 19 pairs buried in his backyard because they were so dirty that he was ashamed to let his wife see them. It made me wish that some of my family members were a little more embarrassed by their own skidmarks.
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