Tuesday, July 5, 2016

In Case of an Accident, Wear Clean Underwear

That goes for the ladies, too.
Remember when your sweet little old grandmother advised, “Wear clean underwear when you go out in case you’re in accident.” Well, it turns out that’s pretty good advice.
I’ve wondered more than once about the moment proper grooming for men became the exclusive purview of “metrosexuals.” It’s not that I have anything against the class of men to which many refer as metrosexuals, or “A straight man who embraces the homosexual lifestyle, i.e. refined tastes in clothing, excessive use of designer hygiene products, etc. Usually is on the brink of homosexuality,” as defined by UrbanDictionary.com. Well, I’m decidedly not a metrosexual, but I still value good hygiene and I think I'm at least a little refined. One never knows when those good habits may be adventageous.

Good hygiene includes feet.
Case in point, friends had invited me and The Favorite Son to their house on the Fourth of July to hang out, swim, imbibe in adult beverages, and blow some shit up. (In case you missed the joke there, even a gentleman can say, “Shit,” in the right company.) Anyway, while I’m fairly consistent with my toilet, I did a head-to-toe, literally, once-over check. Considering we’d be swimming, I decided to clip and clean my nails. Once finished and with fireworks in tow, TFS and I were ready to go.

James Deen: Metrosexual?
After some swimming and some laughing and some eating and some drinking, the adults sat on the deck while the kids, who happened to be all boys, took turns riding a quad and lighting fireworks. As it happened, weathering had caused a deck plank and screw to bow and, while walking barefoot to the kitchen to make another batch of Margaritas, I stubbed the fuck (get it?) out of my big toe. The damned thing bled like James Deen’s co-star after a video shoot. (I watered that down a little to maintain a PG-13 rating.)

Rather than track blood into the kitchen, I waited, bleeding, on the deck while my hosts went inside for bandages. When they returned, rather than giving me the antibiotic and the bandages, my hosts insisted on patching me up. So, I stood there on one foot as my friends cleaned and fixed up my toe, I couldn’t help but remember my grandmother’s advice, which doesn’t pertain just to underwear.

And, not just because you may be in an accident. You never know you'll have fireworks.