BRIEFLY SPEAKING

I'm a Nasty Pig.

My underwear says so.

I thought I was worse off wearing old Fruit of the Looms with holes all along the elastic waistband. Not intentional extra hole features. I don't think Fruit of the Loom makes that kind. But I'm betting Nasty Pig does.

My Nasty Pig briefs are tame. A simple Speedo-like cut boldly coloured in red and black. According to the picture on the package, I’m supposed to look cut when I wear them. Six-pack abs. That v-line that’s sort of hot but makes me think of starving people. And, best of all, absolutely no muffin-top overhang.

The picture lies. Maybe I’m too old. (Maybe clothing should have age guidelines. That’d put me in long johns and suspenders.) Maybe I just don’t have the right body. (Why can’t I just accept that?) Maybe I’m just a plain white Fruit of the Loom guy.

It’s crushing to discover that I’m a Nasty Pig fraud. If they wanted to protect the brand, they’d have spent less time on the pouch and more time on developing a sensor tag that sounded the alarm when the wrong guy—that would be me—tried to update his underwear drawer. They should have ejected me from the men’s undies specialty shop like Willie Wonka got rid of Augustus Gloop. No fancy (under)pants for you!

Perhaps that would have been for the better. I’m unsure what to do with my Nasty Pig purchase. My momma instilled in me the importance of always wearing clean underwear, but what if I get in a car accident, I become unconscious and I’m transported to hospital and the doctors discover my scandalous Nasty Pig label? Would they refuse to operate, even if my briefs are freshly washed with Tide Mountain Spring-scented detergent? (Maybe they’d dillydally as an Instagram-addicted scrub nurse posts a pic. It’s the end of the world as we know it and it has nothing to do with the big baby in the White House.)

I’m seriously limited in when I can slip on my Piggy apparel. Can’t wear them if I plan on driving, can’t wear ‘em if I go through an airport screening. Security officials would deem me a risk for…something. I’m sure there’s some language that applies on page 152 of the manual under the heading “General Unsavoriness”. (Updated versions will specifically reference imposters sporting sexy undies under a new heading, “Missing the (Marky) Mark”.)

I can’t wear my briefs to the gym either. No way I’m revealing them in the change room. The exposed belly is enough to show I’m not worthy. Why drive the point home any further? ‘Roid boys don’t take kindly to having protein shake decision-making (Extra shots of bee pollen and Creatine?) interrupted by a fit of laughter. ‘Roid boys must conserve facial muscle movements; everything must be channeled to the biceps.

I guess I can only be a Nasty Pig in the presence of my boyfriend. Really, that’s the way it should be. I’ll try not to take offense when he quickly turns the light switch to Off. It seems he has a special sensitivity to glare. Happens when I wear my ol’ Fruit of the Looms, too.