Touchy feely

I went shopping for underwear today.

For Husband.

Well, I did stray into M&S for myself, but they didn't have anything I liked. So off I wandered to try and buy something for him.

So, trunks, boxers, slips, hipsters, button fly, keyhole (excuse me?) fly, A-frame (what? He needs scaffolding now?) fly, micro-fibre, cotton, jersey......

Eh???

I really should know what he wears. But most of the time, when I'm focussing on this part of Husband's anatomy, he's NAKED! And now I'm trapped in a narrow eisle in a department store, surrounded by pictures of improbably endowed semi-naked male torsos and crotches. (NB, the M&S Point of Sale graphics are to be savoured. I wondered about slipping one in my bag, but since it was two foot by two foot, I didn't have a big enough bag. Curses.)

I was just about coping until I strayed, unintentionally, into the Jockey section. My jaw dropped open and I started to blush.

My fast-erroding composure was finally obliterated by the words emblazoned across some anonymous model's bulging package - Soft To The Touch

Husband can buy his OWN underwear....