I love my thrashed old undies. Oh sure, maybe if I had a little wee ass, perfectly perky and perpetually devoid of even the tiniest red blemish, perhaps I’d have enough pride to toss the ripped, stained granny panties and splurge on a drawer full of satiny soft, super sexy and apparently “comfortable” thongs, but I doubt it.
And really, as if thongs are comfortable. What a crock of shit. Since when was it comfortable to cram anything up your ass and then strut around all day, trying to ignore it and convince yourself that you can’t even feel it. Give me a break. Many perky-assed women might argue with this but I do believe that if you prefer the ass-intruding thongs to normal underwear, you first of all have issues and secondly, you care waaay too much about what your boyfriend is thinking in the two seconds that he actually sees your gitch. I absolutely guarantee you that he couldn’t care less about your thong as he is focused wholly on the task at hand. Besides, granny panties may not be the fashion statement of the century but they are comfortable, breathable and sensible. For the record, if I were to decide to wear bottoms so tight that one could see my underwear through the fabric, I would just as soon go without panties. Better to feel slightly naughty than to feel like your ass is being violated by Victoria Secret.
My undies are fantastic – having been with me for the better part of an eternity they now know exactly how to behave, never crawling up or falling down, twisting or bunching. My undies love me and boost my ego daily as they display their “medium” tag, knowing full well that they have long since stretched out into a large. They are, for the most part, white. This is intentional as white can be easily bleached. I absolutely refuse to throw away a perfectly good pair of underwear simply because my “four wall protection with dry weave and sphagnum moss core” napkin failed to live up to its glorious claims. I’ve yet to see a well manufactured pair of cotton briefs that couldn’t handle a shock of bleach, some fierce scrubbing, a high heat wash and a higher heat tumble dry and come out looking very nearly new. Now who could say that about a pathetically tiny, triangular swatch of silk designed to annoy and chafe the delicate female crack?