A couple weeks ago…
I was dismayed to feel my favorite jeans were a little tight in unmentionable areas. Darn all the turkey and ham and…{list too long to type}.
I was already late to join guests for another Thanksgiving celebration, AKA extensive dinner. Frankly, I wasn’t sure my jeans could take another one. It seemed like it happened overnight. Did I shrink them? No. If only. I only wash my jeans if…{list too indiscrete to type}.
I was dismayed to feel my favorite jeans were a little tight in unmentionable areas. Darn all the turkey and ham and…{list too long to type}.
I was already late to join guests for another Thanksgiving celebration, AKA extensive dinner. Frankly, I wasn’t sure my jeans could take another one. It seemed like it happened overnight. Did I shrink them? No. If only. I only wash my jeans if…{list too indiscrete to type}.
But you know gregorific, I decide to give it the old college try. Plus, I was running really late and I had on the perfect tunic top to go with those blasted jeans. Nothing else would work with my badass black boots.
I suck in. Wiggle. Jiggle. And I manage the impossible. Jeans zipped. Last breath taken. Ready to consume mass quantities?
I suck in. Wiggle. Jiggle. And I manage the impossible. Jeans zipped. Last breath taken. Ready to consume mass quantities?
I load my plate and begin Mission Stuff Myself; take three.
In the middle of eating the middle of my mashed potato volcano, I feel an odd lump in an odd spot on my person. The part of my person covered by said jeans.
This is not good. Animal, vegetable, or mineral? Unclear.
Not good. Not good. Never happened before. Must. Act. Now.
I don’t have time to excuse myself. I reach into my pants and pull out a pair of panties. Not freshly laundered. Not a scrap of lacy fabric.
In the middle of eating the middle of my mashed potato volcano, I feel an odd lump in an odd spot on my person. The part of my person covered by said jeans.
This is not good. Animal, vegetable, or mineral? Unclear.
Not good. Not good. Never happened before. Must. Act. Now.
I don’t have time to excuse myself. I reach into my pants and pull out a pair of panties. Not freshly laundered. Not a scrap of lacy fabric.
Industrial, day around the house, over your belly button panties, that must have been in my jeans from the last time I took them off for the day. I must have stepped out of them for a shower, folded them, and put them away, used panties intact. Maybe they slipped into the jean leg and then scrunched back up when I was in such a hurry to put them on. It was easy to blame my extensive Thanksgiving.
So, what do you do when you pull a pair of underwear out of your pants at a dinner table full of family and friends? They were all looking at me with various levels of {list too depreciating to type}.
Except— for one lone shining face, which was alight with glee and awe.
“How did you do that?” asked my daughter, who assumes I have pulled off the panties I was wearing. Because who wears two pairs? Who has a pair scrunched up in unmentionable places along with one in more traditional placement?
I took the only way out I could grasp.
I twirled the faded panties around on one finger and said, “Been practicing all year.”
How was your Thanksgiving?
Traditional placement only,
~gregorific
“How did you do that?” asked my daughter, who assumes I have pulled off the panties I was wearing. Because who wears two pairs? Who has a pair scrunched up in unmentionable places along with one in more traditional placement?
I took the only way out I could grasp.
I twirled the faded panties around on one finger and said, “Been practicing all year.”
How was your Thanksgiving?
Traditional placement only,
~gregorific
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