Today in my teenage angst, men's boxers accompanied me to work.
We're in an awkward temperature stage at the library. It's too cold outside to have the AC on but the unseasonably warm temperatures (those being anything above zero) are making the heat inside the library unbearable. So I bore my legs at work. I wore a skirt so it wouldn't seem so out of place. But not wearing tights underneath makes me feel like I'm always about to inadvertently expose myself to the unsuspecting families in the children's library. So I slapped on a pair of boxers.
Let it be known, men's boxers are a gift from above. They're substantial enough that you can wear them around your house but insubstantial enough that you can wear them under a skirt and it doesn't look like you're wearing two sets of bottoms. I like to flash my boxers at my friends to brag about how cute I look and how simultaneously comfortable I am.
Believe it or not, this is an accomplishment.