When I was in high school I wore the best underwear. I had better underwear than any of my friends and was often complimented in the least porny way possible on how pretty my underwear was in the locker room.
My classmates, in the Utahiest part of Utah, had mothers that did not allow them to wear panties like mine for modesty's sake. They bought their daughters underpants that were the next best thing to chastity belts which provided a vast barrier to germs and other intruders. Room for a giant maxi pad and a spare.
I wore cute lacy satin confections which would barely make a bump in the front pocket of your jeans if you had to stash them there in an emergency.
My Mom didn't object. She insisted on doing my laundry because she's a little OCD in the housewivery department so my tiny underpants were approved. They didn't add bulk to your average family sized load.
When I became a Mom I discovered the joys of the cotton bikini panty. Low enough to wear under your mommy gut, cottony enough that they don't bind while you're chasing two year olds, and cute enough to serve as a reminder that you'd had acrobat monkey sex thoughts before you had children.
Then as I aged further, as all my children became potty trained and of the age where they could play outside, I discovered the joys of a pair of underwear that would fully cover my backside and not sneakily creep up into it. Plenty of elastic. Excellent stretch. Lots of breathing room. Could be used as an emergency blanket in cold weather. Sturdy. Dependable.
But those pairs of underwear are such a visual downer.
So when I went to buy myself new underwear while I was visiting in the big city, I decided I wanted the best of all these worlds. Partially granny breathable cotton panties that were comfortable and not an embarrassment to admit you own.
This is not an impossible task. At least when your store of choice fully stocks their underwear selections. My store of choice had a sale on what I wanted, had run out, and because I didn't want to go to another store I just bought what was left within my size parameters.
Size DAINTY. Don't ruin my delusions. You don't need to know my size. You just need to know that I'd already thrown away all my old saggy snaggy pairs of underwear so desperation played it's part.
I settled on four packages of panties made from adolescent fabrics that fit much like this on the front:
Fit somewhat like this on the back:
And have an unpleasant way of crawling up my ass anyway. Sigh.
That's not the worst of this story. The worst of it was found as I was unrolling my new packages of teenybopper print underwear into my drawer. The last package was not what I thought it was at all.
The lady on the package looks much like this from the front, which is no different from the other packages I purchased:
Where are her stretch marks? Anyhow, I found that the underwear looks like this from the back:
I've been shorted a good quarter of a yard of fabric!
In all my varied and lurid underwear owning history, I have never, ever purposely worn a pair of underwear as ridiculous as teeny bopper stars and hearts print thongs and now I have five stinking useless pair of them that I cannot return to the store.
I have some ideas on what I'm going to do with these thongs but I'm still open to suggestions. So far they've made lousy collars for my cats and didn't function well at all as pot holders.
I spend good money on them and can't let them go to waste, even if that waste will barely make a bump in your front pocket.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
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