Saintly Boxers - An Addendum to 'Satan's Panties'

The other day I came home from a long day at work, patted my bulldog on his massive head and set to work preparing dinner. It was on a third pass through the living room that I spotted them: a pair of perfectly innocent, somewhat camouflaged, rather unimposing boxers on the couch. Part of me smiled and thought perhaps there was justice in the universe after all. The rest of me quickly interceded on unfairness' behalf. These unders were dark, blending almost perfectly with the furniture. They were balled up, so if you weren't familiar with my husband's boxers, you could just as easily imagine they were a shirt or towel of some sort (and really, I hope no one out there is that familiar with my husband's underoos). And for a third mark: Boxers are just in general far more respectable than panties. I imagine certain men would have a much harder time taking themselves seriously if they were wearing bright red, lacy, high cut under-riggings beneath their slacks.
...
Oh and strange men weren't walking around our house all day to infer, surmise, and snicker at the naughties upon our sofa!