Ride your bike to work long enough and you forget to bring underwear. Forgetting underpants isn't like forgetting your lunch, though. When you leave lunch at home, you have a treat waiting for you on the counter. But underwear at home is no treat; it's more like the punishment for a pajama malfunction while taking your dog for a morning walk.
When I commuted to the ship, I had all my uniforms there. I never took clothes home; I just did all my laundry onboard. At the squadron, on a few occassions, I made too hasty a departure and left my drawers, with all their supportive potential, laying like a folded cotton promise on the shelf. But on a Navy base you always have the exchange where you can pick up a brand new set-of-three on your way to work or in between meetings. Discomfort and awkwardness averted.
Today, though, my only option is to go commando. It's like finishing every sentence with "in bed" and "that's what she said;" like my ass and I have an inside joke.
But for all this wonderful slyness there's a small down side, denim seams. On days like today, advice like "bend at the knees" isn't so helpful and walking next to someone on a set of stairs can feel like a shameful secret.