I believe in Murphy's Law and Finagle's Law, because they're both just good solid rules of the universe. But I don't usually go in for the various Laws of Irony, like the one that says "if you don't do your homework, it won't snow." I'm enough of a well-trained skeptic to know what's really going on -- the occasions where you don't do your homework because you're counting on a snow day that doesn't materialize are the occasions that stand out in your mind. It's not that they happen more often, they're just more salient when they do.

Nevertheless, I'm convinced that nobody asks me to take off my pants unless I'm wearing stupid underwear. I can go to someone's house ten times in cute panties that actually match my bra, and he'll want to play Warcraft or go get Thai food. But if I decide there's no way we'll end up alone, so it's okay if I wear the ones the dog chewed on a bit... well, we'll end up alone, and that's when he'll get frisky.

No wonder men are supposed to have their ratty old lucky boxers. I've started wearing unimpressive undies in the hopes of getting some play. I have to worry, though, about the intersection of this rule with the classic maternal admonition: "wear clean underwear in case you're in a car wreck." Does the Irony Law apply here, too? After all, previously I was wearing the good lingerie in case I was in another kind of collision, and it always bit me on the ass. Does that mean I'm putting my life in danger every time I get in a car by wearing the worse-for-wear undies that might get me laid?

Best solution all around: wear the bad skivvies and walk.

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