For five years now Fred and Dave have gone out to breakfast on weekends, usually Saturday mid-mornings downtown to catch up on the events that have happened during the week. After sports, they talk stuff about the women in their lives. Fred, twenty years older than Dave, knows Dave truly understands him, in spite of their differences. He can trust that he'll keep his mouth shut, too. They share this, wives who nag, nag, nag, although Alice, Dave's wife, is a cute little piece that Fred wouldn't mind at all.

 

Bertha, on the other hand, is just a pain in the ass. For forty years he's put up with her jealousy and whining. At least he's been able to find some pieces on the side to liven things up and make life in the trailer with her more manageable. Every time she harps about taking the garbage out in the middle of a Bulls' game or she gets on him again to get a job and support her like a man, he can relish the sweet moments he has had with some fine little fillies who know how to make a man happy.  One thing about Bertha, you can't take this away, at least she brings in a paycheck.

 

Sometimes Dave is repulsed by Fred but he admires his flagrant talk. He feels more part of a culture of men who know who they are and what they want. Last week after breakfast, Fred brought him over to his trailer when Bertha was out working and asked him a big favor. Out of nowhere, he said that, if he croaked suddenly, he wanted Dave to get these off the premises before anyone could find them. He reached underneath the crawl space by the steps and handed him a wrinkled paper bag full of underwear, women's panties, that Fred had collected from his girlfriends. There were colorful bits of polyester and lace, a few neon strings, some plain cotton and some torn scraps of unidentifiable origin. Dave wanted to ask Fred then if they had given them to him smelling of sex but he was too shy. Maybe he will, casually, over breakfast sometime. Dave was surprised by a flash of jealousy and wondered how he did it. Fred looked toadish to him but women were weird.

 

After Alice left for the office, Dave stood before the bathroom mirror, carefully trimming his nose and ear hairs, then remembering to spray his toes with Desenex. He stood back to survey his whole body. He was only thirty-eight. He could sense that women still liked his thick chest hair and his butt and he dressed to accentuate both. Okay, the waist had gotten a little thick but a few weeks of workouts at the Health Club at lunch, cut down on the beers and he could get rid of that. There were still plenty of good, good years he could look forward to.

 

Thinking about Fred, Dave reminded himself to be honored, like The Keeper of the Underpants. He imagines that one day he, too, will seek out a handsome, younger man like himself, confide in him and hand him the bag to pass down. Dave will add his own pieces to it and, someday, he warmed inwardly, after generations, that bag will carry a special history.