I love you Boxer Shorts!


Dear Boxer Shorts:

How could I have forsaken you so easily? I used to think you were weighing me down by not making me look appropriate to go out on errands or for being the constant reminder of how unemployed, broke and sad I was. But now I realize this wasn’t your fault. You were just along for the ride, offering comfort and camouflage for my thighs. I didn’t realize how good I had it with you, Boxers. I have nothing left to lose so I will just get straight to the point… I miss you.

This work stuff isn’t all it’s cut out to be. You should have told me it was going to be like this when you watched me dispose of you triumphantly, thinking my days of depression and questionable self esteem would be over. But that is not the case. Now depression happens in the mornings when I need to wake up at six to a jingle from my cell phone I have come to hate but cannot be bothered to change it because I would still have to get up at six and hate the new jingle all over again and it’s not really its fault.

My first thought every day upon awakening is “Shit, I have to go to work”. Actually it’s more like “Oh for fucks sake, Jesus Mary and Joseph, motherfucker! I have to go to this shithole again!”  And of course, everything is downhill from there. The next eight hours are spent in absolute boredom deprived of any technology that has thrived in the past ten years. That is correct, no internet, no computers, no Facebook. Do you understand my pain?

I have no choice but to rely on the “Countdown game”. I watch the minutes pass by, growing miserable with every tick of the clock because it moves slower than a turtle swimming in honey. Even when I decide to test my self control and not look at the clock for long periods of time -you know, just for entertainment’s sake- I only manage to do it for ten minutes at a time. It gets old quickly, this game.

“All right, two more hours and a half before lunch. Two hours and twenty minutes. Holy crap! Twenty whole minutes without looking. Two more hours. God, this sucks!”

I still remember the days you hugged my lower body while I sat down for hours, googling the oddest things:

I am 22 and unemployed. Any advice?

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The Meaning of life.

If I decided to be active, you would stay with me during those days my mind went insane and I concluded P90X was what I needed in order to get my life back on track. You’d watch me struggle pathetically and curse repeatedly at the TV as if it could do anything about my lack of coordination. Those were the days. We made each other so happy.

Remember the times I wore you day and night, without a single minute of separation? Not even when I was doing laundry. We became one in our laziness and lack of hygiene.

Now I need to shower every day, put on makeup every…day. I know I am a girl and I should be overwhelmed with glee at the thought of primping frequently. But there are days I just want my paleness and blemishes to be free of foundation and bronzer. You would never judge me for it. At work however, they would tell me I look “sick” or tired if I don’t have makeup on. Cheeky bastards.

I am caught in first-real-job-hell, Boxers, and all its clich├ęs. Eight and a half hours of work, one strictly timed lunch hour, boring oh so boring dated office, minion duties and an array of very colorful semi lunatic personalities.

This is no life! No one prepared me for this. I often look for a corner where I can assume the fetal position and rock gently for at least a few minutes so I can self soothe. But all I’ll achieve is spreading of rumors about my possible alcoholism or bipolar disorder –which I don’t have.

I guess what I’m trying to get to, dearest, is that I want you back. You would never notice if I didn’t flat iron my hair or if my teeth would go by unbrushed until noon –we know this happened on several occasions. You wouldn’t judge me if I sang to Lady Gaga from the top of my lungs while attempting to follow each step of the dance choreography. I need this kind of acceptance back in my life.

Even when I was mean to you and I covered you in flour and chocolate sauce with my cooking experiments, you wouldn’t complain. Or the times I cried excessively and wiped snot and tears on you because I felt I would die alone without a job or without achieving my dreams. You were supportive and docile during my hysterics.  

Please take me back Boxer Shorts! I miss our life together and I promise you this time around, I will not take it for granted. This nine to five grown up world is so overrated. I need freedom from external unreasonable pressures that don’t amount to any particular wisdom or gain of work experience. 

Please forgive my ignorance when I tossed you aside and blamed you for all my problems. I will never do this again. Please think about it.

Lots of desperation,
M.