I was in the bathroom at Best Buy this evening while my Sweetpea was exchanging his new cell phone. As I was rummaging for my chapstick, I spied something sparkly at the bottom of my bag. Ah, yes. I have been carrying around blue sparkly panties in my purse for almost a week. Let's go back to two weeks ago when I wandered into the undie store. I bought some new undies and one bra in particular came in ice blue sparkly material. Well, who could pass that up? Not me, no! The sales lady said I could get the matching panties for it. Sign me up, girlfriend. I'm a slave to undie fashion. She pauses and says - no whispers:
\"They only come in a thong.\"
I'm a hip woman of the 21st century. I know how to operate a tampon. I'm not scared of the gynecologist. I read my fair share of porn. What would a tough gal like me have to fear about a little cotton in the ass crack? Did I mention they matched my new bra and that they sparkled?
For only an additional $14 I had my - whisper it with me - thong underwear neatly tucked in the pink shopping bag with all my other innocuous undergarments. Once arriving home I tucked them all away and decided I would save the color coordinated ensemble for a special occasion. This was not Tuesday kind of underwear. Saturday rolls around, I have freshly shaved legs and as I get dressed for the day I think, \"yeah, this could be a thong day.\"
It started out okay. They feel kind of strange but look cute. Did I tell you yet that they sparkled? I cloaked my sexy get up in some plain jeans and a t-shirt. Now it's just my little secret how cute and sparkly my ass is. The day was looking good.
Ten minutes later I'm rethinking this whole thong idea. Maybe it's like the first day you ever wore a bra and you wonder who created these torture devices. But I couldn't get over the idea that I had the biggest wedgie of my life. This was not sexy. This was irritating. I resigned myself that as soon as we got home, I would change into some non sparkly undies and try this little project again another day.
Four hours later, we're in Best Buy and nowhere near going home. Jeremy is now picking out his cell phone (the one we just took back today to exchange). I'm trying to look nonchalant as I shove my hand down the back of my pants to snap the sparkly string from my ass crack. That works fine for about 30 seconds or until you take two steps. Repeat as necessary. Perhaps I should have tried a thong that wasn't so sparkly. I think my ass is allergic to sparkles or maybe just the stuff that make up sparkles or maybe just the sparkles being so close to me. But I was about fed up with my lingerie getting a little too personal with me.
Sweetpea asked why I was so sour. I tried to explain my dilemma. As I elaborated on the sparkles and the uber-wedgie effect and the pants groping in public and the hopping around he smiled and then snickered and then began a full fledge guffaw. Have you ever gotten in an argument with your husband in an electronics store about your underwear? I almost did. I stormed off to the bathroom at about warp 6 to fix this situation once and for all.
Have you ever tried to get your underwear off when you're wearing pants and shoes and then get those pants and shoes back on in a public restroom. I chose the handicapped stall thinking I could use some orchestrating room and I'm glad I did. I was hopping around like a drunk salsa dancer and almost took a nose dive into the toilet or out the stall more than once. In the end I was left holding my blue sparkly panties in my hand and had nearly broken into a sweat.
The panties almost were flushed down the toilet but I couldn't bear to dispose of $14 worth of color-coordinated sparkle quite that quickly. Maybe I just wasn't ready for them. So they went to the bottom of my purse. And there they've been since Saturday. I'm still not sure what to do with them. I'm up for suggestions.
Cute thing Sweetpea said today: \"Those two get along like oil and water. Like fire and ice. Like smoke ... and a smoke detector.\"