MagicUnderpants


"I ain't telling nobody."

I knew today would become extraordinary the moment I reached into my underwear drawer and found my MagicUnderpants on top. I don't know how this pair earned its designation. Perhaps they just look more distinguished than all the others, but I knew when I purchased them that they would become my favorite. And they have. When wearing these babies, I fly confident that my airplane can't possibly fall out of the sky. I sense that parking karma will lead me around all day, leaving empty parking spots adjacent to front doors. Good things happen to me every day I wear my MagicUnderpants.

My other pairs just don't seem to do the trick and I do not know why.
It could be that I dress in a bit better attitude when donning this particular pair, and that the resulting perspective leaves me better prepared to notice my good fortune. I feel reasonably confident that everyone engages in this sort of silly little game, with their magic whatever lighting some days much better than others. I also possess a pair of lucky pants which, when paired with my MagicUnderpants, seem to render me invulnerable for the day.

I could, I suppose, declare every pair of pants lucky and every pair of underwear magical, except I don't believe these sorts of luck and magic work that way. The very shortage of supply seems to amplify their mysterious powers. Also, luck and magic seem naturally antagonistic to any sort of planning ahead. They must arrive by random selection, by one opening a drawer to discover that lucky or magical item mysteriously on top that morning. Conniving kills the effect.

Some early pilots refused to fly without their lucky scarf wrapped around their neck. We call these little eccentricities superstitions, and sort of scowl down on anyone too overtly exhibiting them, as if they just must be clueless, though I believe that this sort of behavior qualifies as fully human. I reflect on how little control I have over much of my life, which sometimes seems about as organized as random atoms careening off each other and out into space. A decent illusion of control can serve as a decent coping mechanism, and nobody besides the true believer need buy into any of the soothing story. MagicUnderpants make the perfect companion in this respect because nobody could ever even suspect that I'm swathed in magic unless I disclose the fact. I ain't telling nobody.

©2018 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved









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