Every Saturday night at 6pm, I have a standing telephone call with my brother, Marv. Sometimes we talk 15 minutes, sometimes an hour. We talk about the week that just passed and family, but sometimes we get on a roll and talk about some truly goofy topics--again, usually with the ultimate goal of making the other person laugh.

Tonight's dialogue was about underwear. I can't recall how it started, but Marv was in full form. Referencing his wife MeiMei, he said, "I hate it when she calls my underwear panties." MeiMei is Chinese American and a respected television reporter. As a bilingual speaker, she sometimes uses certain words that may not translate in the American vernacular the same way.

He continued, "My shorts are not panties. Lavender lace panties with the bulge in the front just does not work. How does one pee?" So I suggested that some men enjoy wearing women's underwear because it feels good. That was a mistake. He launched into a stream of consciousness which suggests he had given it some thought. Marv continues: "I couldn't wear women's underwear. It's cut really low and my gut would hang over and that's uncomfortable. And, hey, what's up with crotchless underwear? Why bother? And the thong? Do you wear those?" Yes, I acknowledge, I wear them though I am convinced I have them on backwards most the time. He continues, "There's nothing THERE!" And now, the rub.

"Here is the issue with that stupid underwear," he said, "If you're wearing a thong, when you fart and maybe something comes out, you got nothing to catch it. A little something whistles past and you're wearing a white skirt, you're toast. Stainage. At least if you have regular thunderwear [yes, he calls it thunderwear] you have coverage and you can go to the restroom and just ditch the underwear and go al dente or al fresco or whatever they call it," [I gently remind him it's actually called "commando"].

But he's not done. "And then you're naked under your pants, so other guys in the restroom look at you like you're a freak all day and then you got be careful not to catch your dooja* in your zipper because that could happen and then gangrene sets in and Christ! Do you see why thongs are bad?" OK, I've kind of lost his point, but I've been writing down what he's saying and convulsing with laughter at the same time.

I couldn't let this go. I suggested to him that, years ago, as a superstition, I would wear Fang's underwear when I would fly because I was convinced God wouldn't crash a plane that would result in my being laid out for the coroner in a pair of Calvin Kleins. He said, "Yeah, and if I wear a MeiMei's pink thong on a plane, not only would it compromise my naughty bits all day, the damn plane WOULD go down." And you know what? It probably would. Stay with the thunderwear, bro.

I love my brother. He just gets it.

*In case you were wondering, dooja is my Dad's polite nonsensical word for men's genitalia. I think he made it up, but we've adopted it as regular language and its' use has spread across family members, spouses and friends as part of our own patois.