My boss used to tell us when he went commando.
Imagine it: a group of 20-something women gathered around a low-walled cube. We are laughing. Our company is large, well-known. We all like working here, and we prefer being in cube land over having our own offices. We are always talking, always laughing.
My boss just turned 40. He’s good-looking–no, legitimately handsome–blonde, small but muscular. He likes to tell us about the time he climbed Mt. Everest, the times he’s completed the Ironman. He’s a flirt and a show off, but nice. Always polite. Except occasionally, when he goes commando.
He usually tells us, laughing, on his way into his office. “Commando today,” he smirks. We laugh.