I bought boy underwear to sleep in, the not tightie-whitey kind, but the kind called boxers. I bought boxers to sleep in, I sure did. Those and some A-line T-shirts, also known as, "wife beaters." But since I am a good feminista, I shall call them A-lines T's, even though no one knows what I'm talking about unless I call them wife-beaters.

So's me and my new boy boxers and wife-beaters, we are a cozy good match, but here is the thing: they are vulnerable. Of being snitched. Yes, by the Beautiful Boy.

So, in order to identify my new nightwear to him, I said, "Look Nick. See these?" Holding up the boxers and the wifeys, I said, "These are mine."

He laughed, "Yeah, well, not for long!"

Oh really. I said, "Looky here." And showed him my new permanent marker that I bought along with them and while autographing the inside of the waistband brightly with the word 'M-O-M-M-Y,' I said, "I discovered a remedy to that. I'm sure your girlfriend would find this interesting."

He laughed again, "You suck."

Yes, no pinch-y my undies.