Since the dawn of time, there has been a question every man must ask himself at least once in his life: boxers or briefs.

Some of you may find this dilemma frivolous or stupid. Those of you with a Y chromosome understand that the decision on how to gird one’s loins is a deathly serious affair. Which is why I have no choice but to come down firmly on the side of briefs in this debacle.

Of course, this wasn’t always the case.  There was a time when I was quite the boxers fan, making frequent, impassioned arguments in favor of the clothing, citing its freedom, increased airflow and resistance to wedgies (and alienating most of my friends). Well, you can talk until you’re blue in the face about boxers’ superior stride and comfort, or briefs’ similarity to shrink wrap, but as I have learned through bitter experience, briefs have one superior facet of design that more than outweighs all the other pros and cons combined: Weasel proof leg openings.

While this may not seem of great day-to-day importance, let me tell you, when it is needed, it’s very, very important. Allow me to illustrate this point with an embarrassing piece of real-life experience. (I swear by my own grave that I am not making this up).

The place: my apartment. The time: several years ago. I had just gotten out of the shower and was clad in nothing but a pair of pale, blue boxers. A pair of pale, blue boxers that will never be worn again. Unbeknownst to me, my younger brother, Vlad, thought that this was a good time to go into my room, open up the cage of excitable baby ferrets (still not making this up) and start playing with them. So I come into my bedroom in my undies and sit down on the floor to put on my socks. Well, this puts me (or at least important parts of me) on eye level with two very excited baby ferrets. Imagine my surprise when a baby ferret by the name of Grendel comes sprinting up the leg of my boxers.

Well, I followed standard protocol for finding a foreign body in one’s underpants, namely, jump up and down and scream like a 13-year-old girl at a Twilight premiere. Well, Grendel followed standard protocol for when you suddenly find yourself being thrown into the air by someone 100 times your size jumping up and down and screaming like a 13-year-old girl at a Twilight premiere. That is, grab on for dear life.

The main problem is that ferrets, like most of the weasel family, are not graced with opposable thumbs. So when they want to grab onto something, they do it with their teeth. Which are very, very sharp, in case you were wondering.

Nobody wakes up in the morning and says “Boy, I better put on underwear that will prevent excited Mustelids from gaining access to my jangly bits.”  But you know what, you might want to start.

And that, my friend, is why briefs are, far and away, the best choice for girding one’s loins.