Tag Archives: underwear

Why I Don’t Wear Thongs

I used to wear thong underwear.

In fact my college roommates and I used to have thong slingshot fights at the laundromat.

Until one of them would inevitably get hooked behind the washer on a drain pipe, or hung up in the light fixture (the underwear, not the roommates).

These days, my underpants are large and roomy. (To read more about what I’m currently wearing, read My Husband is Head Over Hanes for Me.)

But I do still own two thongs. One for daytime and one (black lacy) version for night time.

Don’t get excited.

I wear them only when the outfit necessitates, which is almost never. Or when I haven’t done my laundry in three weeks, because I’ve been doing everyone else’s.

That was the case today. And look what happened!


This never would have happened with granny panties.

Every time I bent over or turned sideways, this good-for-nothing T-Back gave me a Wedgie for the Ages!

I hate when you have to spend your whole day managing your outfit.

We all have “that shirt” where the button in the front randomly bursts open.

Usually in the middle of a staff meeting, or an interview – exposing your breasts to the company president.

And we all have “that skirt” made of some kind of unnatural polyester blend, that static-clings to your legs and crotch like a sausage casing.

I don’t think men have these wardrobe malfunctions.

“I was at lunch with a client and my jock strap broke, and my penis just FELL OUT in front of everyone!” said No Man Ever.


“I can’t sit down because the Spanx under my khakis are too tight, so… I’ll just stand.”


“My slacks flew up in the wind and my entire butt was showing. It was so embarrassing!”

All things never said by a man.

Maybe his fly was down ONCE and someone got a glimpse of his boxers. Big whoop.

Until your bare ass, or exposed nipple, has felt the cool breeze of embarrassment, you can’t really relate.

But as women, we can do things to mitigate these malfunctions.

We can buy new underwear and bras (with sturdy straps) more often than every five years.

We can do our laundry first next time and let our husbands turn their underwear inside out for a change.

We can remember to not neglect ourselves.


And for Pete’s sake, get rid of those thongs!!!!

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My Husband is Head Over Hanes for Me

underwearHusband: “Your underwear are heinous.”

Me: “What are you talking about – these are from Victoria’s Secret.”

Husband: “Well, I hope you got your senior citizen discount when you bought them.”

Me: “Just because they are full coverage doesn’t mean they aren’t sexy. Look at this fun pattern!”

Husband: “Mmmm, nothing like faded pink elephants on boxer briefs to turn me on.

And look… there’s a hole in the back…”

Shortly after we got married, I threw in the towel. And by towel, I mean T-back.

I happily traded in the polyester g-strings of my youth for FULL-coverage cotton panties fit for the elderly.

I never looked back.

I guess it’s a little bit sad. To give up the stuff of legends and Sisqo lyrics.

I like it when the beat goes da na da na
Baby make your booty go da na da na
Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That thong th thong thong thong

That song was so hot. I remember standing in line at Sam Goody for the single on CD.

Of course, I told my parents I was studying for the AP exams.

Eukaryotic cell structure? (Shhhhhhh. Dumps like a truck, truck truck.)

By 2006, the black fishing line wrapped around my rear had done its due diligence – reeled in the man of my dreams.

Less than a decade later, I was rocking faded, holey grannies like Def Leppard rocked the Ages.

Even the elastic was worn out.

And yet, it didn’t occur to me to buy anything new.

I couldn’t justify spending money on undergarments. I’d rather spend it on shoes or nail polish or a new Michael Kors wallet!

But Todd was right – the situation was dire.

So I suggested he go pick something out.

Surely, he’d go to an expensive lingerie store, I thought. Choose something from his fantasy playbook – with lace, and pink, and frills!!!!

Two days later amidst the turkey and half-and-half, I saw it…

The Hanes Ultimate Comfort multi-pack of 5.

From (gasp) the grocery store?

I didn’t even know they sold underwear at the grocery store.

Me: “This is your solution for my underwear problem?”

Husband: “Babe, they are high cut briefs. They’re gonna be so hot.

And they’re solid colors – no weird patterns. I thought you’d like the bright pink and purple!”

Me: “Well they’re size large, so they’re not gonna fit. They’ll be HUGE on me.”

That turned out to be untrue.

I modeled a purple pair from the pack, and his eyes lit up with pride.

“See! Those look great!” he exclaimed.

It must have been worse than I thought, for supermarket underwear to be so GREAT.

I appreciated his practicality and frugality, really I did.

And I’m glad he didn’t expect me to be parading around like a Thong Song hood rat – post C-section.

Turns out he just wants to see me in something that fits. That shows off a little leg. That’s clean and mended.

Turns out, he’s head over Hanes for me.

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My Love/Hate Relationship with Spanx

Funny things happen to your body after you have a baby.

Even if you get back to the same “size” you were pre-pregnancy, your parts are all in slightly different locations.

Things are a little…. longer…and a little… lower…than they were before.

Not only do you have an actual baby to worry about now, but you also have all these jiggly bits to manage.

Look at the ridiculous size of this shape wear

Look at the ridiculous size of this shape wear

For example, it is now part of my nightly routine to spray tan myself with L’oreal Spray Tan in a Can.

Todd still hasn’t caught on to the routine, and seems to always walk into the bathroom right when I’m completely engulfed in a fog of aerosol and carrot oil extract. Annoyed, he goes stumbling, coughing, out of the room.

He likens it to Chemical Warfare Training in Marine Boot Camp when he had to wear his gas mask. Don’t be so dramatic, I say.

Sure the spray tan makes me smell like a bag of oven roasted peanuts, but I feel like a sexy bag of oven roasted peanuts. The other downside, of course, is that my wrists and ankles are perpetually orange. But trust me, I look at LEAST 10 pounds skinnier.

Another new product in my bag of tricks is my Spanx body shaper. A nude-colored sausage casing meant to suck in and smooth down. I actually bought my first piece of shape wear when I was pregnant. The store clerk, who was clearly from Brooklyn and thus brutally honest said, “Trust me, you’re gonna need this.” She also told me not to buy the white pants. So right.

A couple of weeks ago I attended an event (this event shall remain nameless in case any of you happened to have been there.)

I was determined to wear a very form-fitting black dress, but I knew I needed a little…smoothing.

Seeing as how Colt is almost 2-years-old, I figured it was time to retire the maternity Spanx and purchase a new pair.

So I bought a size small at my local Stein Mart and joyfully returned home. I opened the box….and pulled out what looked like a pair of bike shorts… for a Cabbage Patch doll (see photo. I’ve taken it with Todd’s flip-flop for size relativity).

It’s going to take an act of God to get my fat ass in this, I thought.

Several minutes of hoisting, grunting, stretching and finagling, and I was in.

I turned to my floor length mirror to survey the results.

Damn. I looked awesome, I thought.

Only problem was…

I couldn’t breathe.

I mean. not. even. a. little. bit. Short shallow puffs were all I could bear.

But I was so determined to wear my little black dress sans cottage cheese, that I convinced myself to wear the Spanx anyway. They’ll loosen up, I thought.

(But that’s the thing about Spanx – they don’t loosen up. In fact, that’s the whole point.)

So I went to the event and 30 minutes in, I was in Severe Pain. My stomach was caving in on itself and I was feeling lightheaded from not really breathing for the last hour. Could have been the omelet I ate, I thought. Maybe it’s food poisoning.

I’ve always been one to make excuses for fashion. What shoe size am I? Depends on how cute the shoe is.

But this was getting unbearable.

Finally, I’d had enough. I went to the bathroom and wrestled those Spanx offa’ me. I’ll control you, Control Top, I said out loud.

Only problem was… I wasn’t wearing anything underneath the shape wear. Mmmm, quite the conundrum.

See, I am ALWAYS in favor of underwear. I am not one of those girls that likes to be free and breezy. Ever. In fact, the Granny-er the panties, the better.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and so I stuffed those Spanx into my purse (yes, they fit in my clutch) and walked out of the restroom with my head held high.

Just keep it together, I thought. Literally.

Luckily, Sharon Stone didn’t make an appearance, and I made it through the event unscathed.

I guess the moral of this story is that women go through a lot to look good.

We pluck and Spank and tan just to feel normal, and it only gets more involved after babies. So be nice to us.

If you see a woman at dinner looking pale, give her a break. Buy her a drink.

And tell her she looks fabulous.

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