The true origin of the phrase “going commando” is unknown. Some say it’s a reference to a commandos’ reputation for action and toughness rather than any specific practice. I’ve always believed the saying references the habit of not wearing underwear. I’ve never been a practitioner, but I know of those who have. Ruth rolled that way a time, or two, out of necessity rather than desire.
One version of the urban dictionary was recorded by a former infantry medic which gives this explanation. He writes, when on the field, soldiers sweat a lot and can’t take showers for days. Their uniforms are loose enough to allow for ease of movement, and they don’t wear underpants in order to prevent skin eruptions and fungal infections. For them it’s a hygiene thing. I support the concept of cleanliness, but going sans underwear doesn’t appeal to me. In fact, I’d argue that the practice is not hygienic at all.
I’m meeting my California kids in Las Vegas in a couple of weeks. I met a former golf partner of mine for lunch last Sunday. During our meal I invited him to join us in Vegas. I’m not sharing his name for fear that some readers may reach out and make a public attack on the man. To be somewhat transparent, his name isn’t Bruce, Craig, Russ, or Jeff. It’s not my son, David, either.
In any case this former golf partner reminded me of a time when we shared a room on a golf trip. To be honest, its wiped completely from my brain. I may have dissociative amnesia regarding the experience. Dissociative amnesia is sometimes triggered by witnessing a traumatic event. I have no recollection of the trip so that may be why. I don’t want it to be, but life doesn’t always give us what we want.
When we discussed the Vegas sleeping arrangements, I told my friend that the condo I’ve reserved has a pullout couch he could use. He offered up some weak, “I have a bad back.” objection so I offered to share my king size bed if he stayed on his side. That’s when he reminded me of the golf trip. We were sharing a room with two separate beds, and I spotted him strutting around naked as a j-bird on our first night out. According to the legend, my objection to his attire, or lack thereof, fell on deaf ears. He wasn’t changing his habits for me. Which brings me to today.
I’ve learned that he not only sleeps in the nude, which I accept, except when he’s sharing space with me, but he may not own a pair of underwear. He’s living a full-time commando life. I’m concerned for him. As we age, the boys need support. You can’t just go tea bagging around willy nilly. It’s a health and safety issue. The long-term effects of his lifestyle can’t be good.
When we parted, he told me he’d check his calendar and get back to me regarding his availability. We exchanged emails the following day and he let me know he’s made his flight arrangements. I asked that he bring some underwear. Here’s his response. “I will pack underwear, but there is no way they will be worn.”
I’m rethinking the entire proposition. I may be in for more than I bargained for. I hope we can reach a compromise where he keeps the boys out of sight so they can be out of mind. I find the prospective image troublesome.