Froggy's World - Alms for Oblivion (Weblog)

And Bingo was his name-o
16th January, 2007

Due to an apparent widespread belief that I was sadly reduced in the matter of undergarments, I now have sufficient to see me well beyond 2010. Though grateful for the inventiveness displayed by some Christmas gift givers, I am left wondering if there was a subtext.
One pair was particularly intriguing. On unwrapping them I presumed they had been bought at one of those places that sell factory seconds as there was an obvious fault in the manufacturing process. Why else would there be this peculiar addition to the front bit which resembled a pouch? On reading the label I learnt that it had been designed as a special container for one's blokey bits to protect them from chafing and maintain them in a sweat-free environment.
I tried them on, only to discover that they had been designed with somebody else in mind as once I had placed the bits in the appropriate container, there was still room for my wallet, mobile phone and a pair of socks. Make that two pairs of socks. I continue to wear them as they are extremely comfortable but am conscious, with every step I take, that I fall significantly short of fulling the void so thoughtfully provided.
Another pair was given to me by my wife, not so much as a gift, but as part of an exercise in market research.
   "They're from a friend," she said. "She's doing the PR for the people who sell them and gave them to me to pass on to you as a sort of unofficial Christmas gift."
   "Bless her kind heart," I said as I ripped open a packet adorned with an image of the usual flat-bellied Adonis with bulging groin. "What's different about them?" I asked.
   "They're an aphrodisiac," she said.
   "Not for me," I replied. "I can honestly say that I have never been aroused by the sight of men's underwear."
   "Not that sort of aphrodisiac. They've been treated with some sort of natural drug," she said.
   "Arrgghh!" I said, tossing them onto the kitchen table.
   "Here," she said, thrusting a press release into my hands which on reading appeared to have been composed by the same person who writes the assembly instructions for Ikea furniture.
"Men underwears with exhilarating microcaps," it read. "Muira Puama first produced in Amazonia. Sometimes stress, modern way of life, age can provoke exhaustion. This plant has energising action. Can simply be love potion. Microcaps will explode under frictions when worn and they will diffuse for 10-times worn."
   "I'm not sure I like the idea of anything exploding in my undies," I said, backing away from the undergarments still lying on the table.
   "The idea, moron, is that this stuff that they extract from some Amazonian plant is an aphrodisiac. They put it in the material they make the undies from and...bingo!"
   "How do you mean, bingo!?" I said.
   "You know - bingo!" she said.
   "Oh, that bingo. And I'm supposed to wear these to see if they work? Who says I need some Amazonian jungle juice in order to go bingo?"
   "No one. I just said that you'd probably try them out for my friend," she replied airily.
   "So what, I'm walking through Woolies wearing my aphrodisiac undies when suddenly there's a friction-induced explosion in my groin, and bingo? I'll be arrested," I said. "What would I say? That I became excited when I saw my favourite brand of potato chips was on special? I'll be locked up."
Obviously, this scenario had not occurred to her.
   "We'll stay away from Woolies," she said. "Marc, just give them a go."
Let me report that I spent the day in a state of nervous anticipation, senses attuned for the first sign of the promised trouser explosion. Nothing happened.
   "They must be past their use-by date," I said.
   "Yes, sweetie, that must be it," she replied.
You will find them in a shop called Puritan in Brisbane's Fortitude Valley. If you try them and they work, please don't tell me.

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