Is That A Parachute On The Clothesline?

Remember when you were younger and found out that the term "Granny Panties" was because your Granny actually wore underwear like that? As a young girl I remember finding it hilarious that my grandmother wore underwear "that huge". (Of course, I was much, much smaller myself so I'm sure that added to the largeness.)

Well guess what? I have figured out that this is a gradual transition. The older I get, the bigger my underwear get. It's like the little old ladies with the 20 feet long Cadillacs.  Maybe we want things big enough to find them once our eyesight starts going? Regardless, it's not an overnight decision. It starts small.

When you're a young hot thing, that's when you wear the bikini briefs, the v strings, the thongs, or as I call them, the permanent wedgie. I used to revel in my small size 5/6 string bikinis (which sound cooler than what they are: bikini briefs with strings holding the front and back together instead of boring old fabric). I used to get the satiny material and feel all cute. After having my second child I found out that the strings cut into my "Mom fluff". (This is where Mother Nature helps fluff you up to make you a comfy cuddler. At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it dammit.) They had to go.

Next were the satiny bikinis. Still cute but without the circulation strangling strings. But I felt all Mom-ish. I'm too young to wear ugly underwear! Luckily, at this point, some savvy marketing genius with ESP at Victoria's Secret solved my plight by coming up with the "hipster". (I don't know if they actually came up with it or just jumped on the bandwagon but just go with me.) What's a hipster? It's what you would get if boy shorts and bikini briefs had a baby. They were great! Cute AND enough coverage. Best of all: no strings to remind me about the Mom Fluff.

So life is good, good, good, and then BAM. I'm wearing the hipsters one day and I keep doing the butt pick of shame. What's the butt pick of shame? It's when your underwear are being uncooperative and ride up, hiding in the crack of your ass. Since it's apparently uncool to let the world know you have a "wedgie", you find a bathroom or a dark corner in which to dislodge the offending fabric from between your cheeks. Which lasts for all of 3 minutes before you move the wrong way and find them climbing back to their pre-pick spot.

It's at this point that I start pondering the need for those Hanes underwear that I saw on that commercial. They move with you and don't cause wedgies and are supposed to be super comfortable. And it hits me: This is how my grandmother ended up with Granny Panties. She just kept "upping" her underwear to be comfortable until she eventually ended up with the kind that were so large they doubled as her underwear AND bra. Functional and money saving! Bonus! But what the hell, right? By the time I'm 70, no one wants to see me in my underwear anyway. My secret's safe unless you visit me on laundry day. And if you do, relax. It's not a parachute on the clothes line, it's just my undies.