Granny, Torturer Extraordinaire

In my adolescent years my birthday parties were pretty much the same.  They fell sometime after Kevin's and sometime before mine, being only six days apart this made sense.  Most of them were held at a picnic shelter at the local park.  We were allowed to invite any friends we wanted and almost all of the family attended.  They all stared with everyone socializing, playing on the playgrounds, and just having a good time.  The good time extended to the eating of food and eventually the slicing and eating of cake.  Then came the black cloud of every party.  The rain on my parade was the opening of presents.  Most kids love unwrapping their gifts, showing them around, unpacking them, and playing with them.  I would look over at the table of gifts and just cringe, somewhere underneath all of those great gifts was the bane of my existence.  I would open each gift one by one, taking my time, postponing the torture that awaited me.  Each opened present bought me closer to doom.  Finally I would run out of time and presents and have to open the one I had saved for the very last.  The name of the antagonist was written on the label in very careful print.  Who was this dungeon master in charge of my embarrassment?  No other than my own Granny.  What device lay beneath this colorful package of destruction?  A pack of underwear for me to display in front of all my friends.