Granny Pannies are not the bad guy

 Good Morning my fine readers. Today is Monday, the beginning of a new week, and almost the beginning of a new month. With that I've decided to begin anew with the blog. Once again I'll be going into a bit of a schedule. And to start off this new schedule I introduce the Caveat Queen. Well yeah she's a queen as if a diva would associate with anyone less. I digress. Her highness is a writer from my local writer's guild and a woman who essays I come to highly respect. However, unlike most royalty shes is a bit shy. Which is why I refer to her title. Below and hopefully for now on she will share with us her royal musings each Monday. But just to give her a little incentive I think that comments would really help her confidence and reveal or identity.

I had a bad underwear experience today.  I know it seems a small thing, but at 6:00 this morning it was a pretty damn big deal.

These were supposed to be some really good underwear, according to the box. “Control top” the box said.  Well, good, I thought...I needed some control that is for sure.  Things are out of control around the underwear-wearing regions.  Control is good.  Sounds serious.  It’s time for me to think seriously about the underwear region for a change.  I have been far too lax for far too long about the whole area.

“Tummy tamer” it said, too.  Awesome!  My tummy is definitely not tame.  It is some wild jiggly thing that “crunches” are not taking care of at all.

And this brand had the added “Thigh Shapers” built in...now granted, these made the underwear look a bit like something my grandma might have worn, but I tell you, I was on a mission this morning.  No Mrs. Nice Guy about the cellulite and all that.  Today was gonna be my day to look smooth and shapely and these underwear were my ticket to the promised land of beauty.  Thigh Shapers, I tell you...squeezing bumps and bulges that I have tried to jog and “power walk” into submission for years.   Well, I think I know how they get toothpaste into the tube, now.  It isn’t for the squeamish.

So, after the jumping up and down and the pulling and tugging and the lifting and tucking to get all of me into these underwear, I was ready to admire myself.  I knew that I had to look as good as the woman in the picture on the box.  I mean, she looked damn good.  She was tall and lean and blonde and stretched out on this beautiful couch in the sunshine, with a smile...she was so happy!  I figured once I got these things on and they worked their magic, I would be ready to see the transformation.

Disappointment is really not a strong enough word.  Maybe horror is too strong, but maybe not.  I realize that it is not fair to expect that the weather (still cold and wintery, not warm and summery like on the box) would be improved by the underwear.  Maybe there was just a little part of me that was hoping...but I accept that it was an unrealistic expectation.  The fact that I was still short and brown-haired instead of tall and blonde?  Ok, I can understand that I would have had to do more than buy underwear to alter that...and maybe it is time, at age 38 to accept that I am...not...going...to...get...any...taller.  Ever. 

       

But the vision that really devastated me, and for which I may have to seek legal action for the emotional trauma it caused, is the sight of my poor flab spilling out over the top, and escaping from the bottom, and, indeed, seeping over the sides of that freaking underwear.  It popped out in places that it had formerly occupied, but in greater quantities than it had previously.  So I still had a tummy, but it was flat in the middle and bulged out under my tits.  I had thighs, but they were flat at the top and sagged down over my knees, like drooping saddle bags.  My butt fat was bunched up and pooching up out of the back of the panties like I had a misplaced hunchback.

I looked at my short, bulging, brunette self, with the rain spattering against the windows of my bedroom, with the not-so-magical underwear, and I cried.  I was not gonna get taller, thinner, blonder, the underwear was not gonna fit, and the sun was not gonna shine today.  Not for me.  Not today.     

I know that is an awful story.  Sometimes we have bad underwear days and it rains and we feel crappy.  That was what happened to me.  Did I wear that damn underwear all day?  Well yes, I did.  It was $9.99!  Damn right I wore it.  It crept up my ass and pinched my waist and was so uncomfortable it made me a miserable bitch all day.  I hated it.  I wore it though.  I wasn’t gonna waste my $9.99.

I guess all I know is that I can live through a bad underwear day.  I have had a lot worse days. Yeah, and a lot of better ones, too.  Tomorrow will certainly be better.  I’ll wear my nice soft “granny panties” that I have had forever and that are 100% cotton and bag and sag in all the same places I do.  And that is one giant step toward having a good day.

I am not gonna make myself feel bad ever again about being so short and dumpy and bumpy and brown haired.  That was my own damn fault.  Next time I buy panties, they better be the kind that come in “bulk” at the Wal Mart for three bucks a 4-pack.  They are less painful...all around.



Hoorah for you Caveat Queen! We will own a good days and curse those missrepresenting advertizing packages!

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