I see London, I see France

Do you remember a time when what kind of underpants you were wearing really mattered? Me neither. Legend has it that as a child, I was a fan of the lacey bottomed variety, but that just seems to itchy to think about. As an adult, I am a slave to comfort and thrift with a nod toward not embarrassing myself if I happen to get into an accident. If the elastic is good, there are no holes and they don't show through the fabric or over the waistband of what I wear, I'm ready to go. Things are different when you are just under five years old and a boy named Comet.

The undie story started this morning when the only clean underpants were of the Lightening McQueen variety. Understand, Lightening's star has fallen and it's all super heroes, all the time now. Comet would also be excited about underwear that depicted fighting of any kind. So far, no kickboxing/knife fight/bazooka battle 3 pair pack has shown up in a local venue. We've got to work with what"the corporations" (ala Gameguy) are selling: cartoon Super Heroes for cool boys and Diego and Elmo for the tragically unhip.

So, Comet and I sought our fortune at the local KMart. Let me just thank God and KMart, right here, that they had the appropriate heroes in a size four. Thank you (You)! I'll give Comet this, he's fast. He made his selections in two minutes. The choices? Drumroll, please. He will be shaking his booty in either Star Wars or Transformers drawers for the next six days. He insisted on putting on a new pair the minute we got home from the store and is happily sitting on Bumblebee ( "the best Transformer"), watching Scooby Doo on TV. Here's hoping that the old faithfuls of his wardrobe (what's left of Batman, Spidey, Scooby and the X-Men) will still be good enough. In our house, you need more than six pairs in your cycle. I'm just saying