It all started with a bromance between the founders of Me Undies (maker of impossibly soft underwear) and Saucey (delivery service bringing booze to Angelenos). Hoping to create a partnership, they came up with the idea of “sleepover packages” combining underwear and booze delivery—for a girls' night in, a bros night, or date night with your dude. A model sporting Me Undies boxers makes the delivery, because this is L.A., where even the delivery guys are models.
Finally, I thought, an app that delivers booze and underwear at the same time! As contrived as it sounded, it also seemed perfectly suited to my life. My boyfriend and I live together, and we would rather stay home and watch a movie just about any night of the week than head to The Bungalow. So we cleared our schedules on Friday night, downloaded the Saucey app, and opted into what promised to be the weirdest date night ever.
8:48 PM: I place an order through the Saucey app, which reminds me of ordering an Uber—except instead of choosing between an SUV and a black car, I’m choosing my underwear size (and my boyfriend’s) for the “couples sleepover package” option, which comes in at just over $100. I wouldn’t normally splurge so much for underwear, but this is “date night in,” and we’re going all out.
9:29 PM: The phone rings. It’s Andrew, my delivery-model, here with my order.
9:30 PM: I take the elevator down to the lobby of my building, where I find Andrew perched on the couch. I’m not sure how he got into the lobby (you need a key code to open my building’s front door) but there he is, looking like he walked out of a Calvin Klein advertisement. On a scale of one to Ryan Gosling, I’d say he’s a solid nine. He’s wearing a tiny pair of checkered boxers and a grey T-shirt with SAUCEY emblazoned on it. He’s also wearing a pair of oversized flip-flops, which makes him look a little bit like he walked out of a locker room and simply forgot to put on his pants.
9:31 PM: Model-Andrew springs up when he sees me and flashes a camera-ready smile. He unloads his armful of grey Me Undies pouches to shake my hand, which seems strangely formal considering he’s in his boxers. He lets me grab the underwear pouches, but tells me he has to scan my ID before he can hand over the alcohol. “It’s upstairs,” I tell him, “I’ll run up and grab it. Can you wait here?”
“Actually,” he says, with his eyes smoldering in a way that makes me think he’s going to light me on fire, “I’ll just come with you.”
9:32 PM: My boyfriend raises his eyebrows when I open the door, model-Andrew in tow. They shake hands—a bro’s sign of good faith—while I fish out my driver’s license. Model-Andrew tries to scan it using an app on his phone, but for some reason, the app doesn’t recognize the barcode on my ID. I’m beginning to think that model-Andrew is going to be here all night, trying to verify that I’m over 21. Threesome???
9:35 PM: Eventually, my boyfriend forks over his ID, and it scans. (Threesome: denied.) Model-Andrew lingers for a few minutes, mentioning that he’s not wearing his “modesty cup,” and that he’s sorry if he’s not presenting well in his skimpy uniform. It’s unclear whether this is intended to be flirtatious, and if so, if he’s flirting with me or my boyfriend. This makes my boyfriend more than a little uncomfortable.
9:36 PM: Am I supposed to tip model-Andrew when he leaves? Or is this like Uber, where the tip is folded into the price? I briefly consider digging into my wallet for a few dollars, but then I consider that I’d have to tuck the bills into his underwear (no pants equals no pockets) and decide to forgo the tip. If you’re reading this, model-Andrew, I’m sorry.
9:40 PM: Boyfriend and I tear open our packages. Inside, we find two sets of underwear (navy and white striped boxer briefs for him, solid teal boyshorts for me), two black T-shirts, two pairs of sunglasses (why?), an eco-friendly condom (what?), and a few packets of vitamins that say they prevent hangovers. While we’re rifling through our loot, we almost forget that there’s also a bottle of wine.
9:50 PM: Time to pop bottles.
9:55 PM: I give my boyfriend a seductive look as I slowly ease the cork out of the wine bottle and pour two even glasses. We’re using our “nice” wine glasses—which isn’t really saying much, except for that our normal version of “date night in” involves shoveling popcorn into our mouths while we binge-watch Netflix. Tonight, “date night in” got an upgrade.
10:05 PM: “Let’s put on our matching undies,” my boyfriend offers, clearly amused by the circumstances. We live together, so seeing each other in our underwear isn’t really anything special. We unceremoniously drop trou in the middle of the living room to change into our new underthings. After we’ve changed, we consider that we may have missed an opportunity for a sexy moment. But then again, what’s the ideal way to change into your delivery-underwear?
10:06 PM: The underwear is ridiculously comfortable. Soft, seamless, super cozy fibers. My boyfriend already owns several pairs of Me Undies, and he looks incredibly hot in the new pair. I like mine, too, although I can’t shake the feeling that they look like briefs that belong on a 10-year-old boy.
10:13 PM: Still sipping wine. It’s a nice bottle—smooth, rounded flavor, and a pretty label—but it’s from Francis Ford Coppola’s winery, so we aren’t sure if it’s actually good or just has celebrity wow-factor. We decide to check out its reviews online. Surprisingly, this particular year won a handful of wino awards, including the Gold Medal from the Orange County Wine Society. Bravo, Saucey.
10:15 PM: We remember that our package includes packs of “Hangover Pills.” (Me Undies definitely has a thing for vitamins; when we’ve ordered undies from them before, they’ve sent vitamins for getting fit.) We read the directions, and swallow one pack of the vitamins each to minimize our hangovers.
10:24 PM: “Wait, what if these pills are roofies?!” my boyfriend says abruptly. I tell him to shut up.
10:49 PM: We’re a little tipsy, and we want froyo. Luckily, we live next door to a Yogurtland that stays open until 1 AM. It’s weirdly packed inside (seriously, who else is craving yogurt at this hour?) and we bring our cups back to the apartment.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
10:55 PM: Million dollar idea: frozen yogurt delivery in Los Angeles. Why walk a block when you can have it sent to your door???
11:31 PM: Boyfriend and I are pretty drunk. We’re sitting on our bed, talking, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls, knocking back glasses of wine. It really does feel like a “sleepover.”
11:49 PM: By now, we’re starting to feel our eyes grow heavy. Our underwear feel like heavenly-soft pajamas. We’ve swallowed enough wine to feel drowsy — or could it be the roofie pills finally kicking in? Either way, we slip under our sheets with our “date night” uniforms still on and snuggle until we’re asleep; the eco-condom still wrapped. This is far from the hottest night in we’ve had together — but it felt like a real, old-school “sleepover” with a guy that I happen to be lucky enough to sleep next to every night. Nothing wrong with that.
The Saucey and Me Undies “Sleepovers Packs” are available for Angelenos to order throughout the next week. To order yours, find the Saucey app in the App Store and select “Sleepover Pack.”