Photo courtesy of www.freedigitalphotos.net (AKARAKINGDOM) I went to The Bay a week ago in search of underwear. Sophie had gnawed on one of my last good pair and so I had no choice but to enter the horrifying world of women's undergarments. For years, I've been buying Jockey because they are cotton and last so long they will, no doubt, end up in the landfill for decades to come. In the meantime, they grace my arse for at least five years. I was shocked to discover that all the sizing has changed. As I perused the never-ending racks of multi-color gitch, I realized that the highest number they went up to was a size 10. WTF? Fortunately for me, I ran into the wife of a friend who was replacing her nuclear panties and she schooled me on how to buy modern underwear. "Just ask the girl at the counter for a tape measure and you'll compare your hip size to the chart." Seemed easy enough. I was a size 9! Well, it turned out I hadn't factored in the bunch...
More than a million served!