First order of business for an eighty-seven degree Misbehaving Tuesday in April: an extra hour of sleep, culminating in waking up good and clammy, perhaps from the sun coming through the window, perhaps due to the warm and fuzzy dreams. Second bit of business for the day: sundress, sandals. It doesn’t matter what day of the week it is, scampering around in a blue sundress that shows off the goods feels like misbehaving.
Especially when there is a thong underneath. Fine, so I am writing about underwear again -it is Misbehaving Tuesday, after all- but I am writing about underwear with a purpose this time. For the sake of propriety in an age of clingy modal dresses, I finally ceded to the thong. To my sisters who wear these things all the time, including during vigorous exercise, my ass and I salute you. I don’t know how you do it. Contrary to popular wisdom, I did not get used to it. I don’t care what anyone says, a wedgie is a wedgie, and I will not abide by self-induced wedgies, not for anyone, not for any dress.
On that note, I have noticed an alarming trend in underwear recently – not only the dominance of thongs in the undie marketplace, but the rise -so to speak- of the “cheeky panty,” which for the uninitiated, is a pair of underpants with a seam straight up the back, effectively guaranteeing a semi-wedgie at a minimum. These seem to be geared mostly to women younger than me, which leaves me with questions. Questions like, “Why are you paying money to shove things up your butt?” and… actually that’s it. Why on earth are you paying money to shove things up your butt? From what I understand of the world, shoving things up your butt is either free, or if you’re fairly attractive, quite lucrative. Therefore, do not pay to shove things up your butt. This is my sage advice to my younger sisters.
There is room for me to benefit from this, however. This morning as I dubiously eyed the thong, I had this idea about printing the Twitter whale on the back, so when it inevitably pops over the waistband of a pair of jeans, there will be a failwhaletail. Hellooooooo, CafePress.
SO. Misbehaving Tuesday. I scampered around running errands in a nice dress listening to Phish, because April always makes me want to get stoned and listen to jam bands. (I am certain, though, that any attempt at getting stoned these days would render me stupid for at least a week. Even in college I was the queen of the dumb-dumbs. Dumdums? Both look weird. It occurs to me with each post I write that I am pretty much guaranteeing myself never to have a reputable employer ever again, unless I plan to work for the Maryland State Office of Underpants and Shoes, or perhaps the Department of Misbehaving and Tofu.) I spent the rest of the day working on a project due tomorrow, but it was tough to focus with the windows open and a warm breeze on my shoulders, so I also did some general, free-floating screwing around.
As for celebrating my birthday month: coconut water with pineapple.
Thong + squeezebox = 12/22/2012 (only in the hottest way possible – goddess bless, I hope that’s how it all ends for me).
What, no picture of the dress? Come on!
Re: thongs
I’ve never understood the big deal about panty lines. It’s like when my mom would get on me about my bra straps showing when I’d wear tank tops. It’s not like it’s a big secret that I’m wearing a bra. I refuse to give myself a wedgie just so others can pretend I don’t have lady bits.
Well, I was going to post a picture of the dress, but I spilled something on myself and didn’t want to take the time to photoshop the stain. Besides, posting toe cleavage is one thing. Cleavage cleavage is another. (And I am pleased to report that the stain came out, in case you were wondering.)
The irony of thongs is that while they eliminate panty lines, they pretty much give away everything else. I see more ephemeral crack under skirts and summer pants than I am really comfortable admitting.
Regardless of all of that, I am glad to know that you are not shoving elastic up your butt for the sake of perpetuating the illusion. Stand your ground!
P.S. Please, let’s start the Dept. of Misbehaving and Tofu so we can both work there for life and not have to worry about getting “reputable employment” ever ever again.
Totally! I guess it will have to be a federal agency, since we are in different states. Or, maybe we could just start a Cafe Press store or something, called The Department of Misbehaving and Tofu.