Friday Fancies: Underwear

I cannot get into a bad car wreck.

Oh, not because I may have kids in the car, or my family depends on the income I make, or because I just Looooo-ooooove my '95 Saturn. No, it's my underwear.

If you are to know anything about me, it's that I hate shopping, with few exceptions. I really dig toy, craft, home improvement, and book stores. I still hate all the machinations it takes to get to them, and for some reason within five minutes of entering the store I have to reeallllly go visit the restroom. Maybe it's a holdover from my childhood. After all, anytime I go shopping with the kids (is there any other way?), they have to use the restroom, too. It must be genetic.

Hmmm, I realize that I may be giving you a false impression. My need for restrooms while consumerizing is not why I can't get into a car wreck because of my underwear. That whole self-reflection gig was just for color, and to impress on you that I don't like to shop.

Particularly clothes shop. OH MY GOD is it depressing. For some reason, they don't make clothes to fit the frame of a woman just over five feet tall that has a chest that makes Dolly Parton look waifish. I guess there aren't many of us out there to make us a lucrative demographic. But, I really don't see all that many 5'8" size four 36AA chest women around, either, and they sure make enough clothes off the rack for THEM! Ahem. At times, I see someone like me on the street, and I get the impulse to accost her and ask her where she buys her clothes, and especially where she gets her bras. But I chicken out resist.

Since I'm still in the throes of post-partum-depression, I keep my visits to heinous haberdasheries limited lest I relapse. Which brings me to my underwear.

One of the really fun things about having little girls is their underwear (oh, damn, that phrase earned me more child porn google visits). So I lied, I like toy, craft, home improvement, book, and little girls' underwear stores. Well, if they had such things. They are so cute, with little monkeys or pigs or princesses or whatnot on them. I could go ape in a little girls' underwear store. Thankfully, there are no such establishments that I know of. So I end up at KMart or wherever to buy them after putting it off for far too long. And I go so happy with size 2 underwear purchasing, I run out of bladder control for my clothing needs (have you SEEN a K-Mart restroom? Do you really expect me to use it?). I'm not going to waste my urinary tract health looking at dowdy, plain, no-pigs-or-monkeys-to-be-seen-on-them Mom underwear. It's either those huge granny panties, a very few interesting colors on Hanes Her Way, or lacy underthingies that I don't want to have to explain to my daughters just yet.

So, it's been years since I've purchased any netherregion clothing for me, and they are worse for the wear. I've taken to using Hubby's boxers when I'm desperate.

Try explaining that to the ambulance driver.