Blue

Today is a sad day for my wardrobe. I must cease wearing my favorite pair of holey jeans, because they have an ever growing hole in the crotch that now extends out far enough on my back upper leg to almost fully expose my right ass cheek whenever I sit down.

Although I am in the habit of wearing undergarments, I guess I’m not comfortable enough with my sexuality that I want everyone I meet to know what color panties I chose that morning.

You know, I honestly wish there had ever been a time in my life when my underwear showing wouldn’t have bothered me.

I’m not sure if girls are still doing this anywhere trendy, because I live in Kentucky, which means I haven’t seen anything ever in a shop here that wasn’t already six months out of date before the image ever hit my cornea. As a direct result of this phenomenon, most women in Louisville don’t even attempt to be in vogue.

But, I see things on t.v., and I have read things about fashion. That’s how I know that, for a while there, girls who had good enough buns to want to show them off were wearing thongs under very loosely fitting jeans, thereby exposing their assets.

I read a letter to Ann landers on this subject during that time. It was from an older lady complaining about her husband staring at a woman who was clothed in this manner at a restaurant.

I think Ann forgot a very important issue when responding to this woman’s letter. That is why, although this is long after the fact, I feel a strong need to respond to the letter myself. I had a similar experience with Michael, and I think I can provide some insight on this topic.

Dear Old Bat,

If you had acted like you had some sense, your husband would have rocked your world that night with the same kind of enthusiasm that he usually reserves only for the Superbowl or some other such male nonsense.

Instead of taking him home and using all that amorous energy he had built up staring at the cute girl’s butt, you probably just yelled at him and made him sleep on the couch while you poured yourself into typing a sad letter to Ann Landers.

That woman endured wearing the most uncomfortable underwear known to man. Not for herself. No. She did it for you, so that your husband – with eyes tightly shut – could give you the best lovin’ you had in years.

Women who wear thongs publicly, and look good in them, provide a useful service. They get the wedgies, and we get laid in their stead.

If she touches your husband, scratch her eyes out. Otherwise, thank her. In fact, pay her to coincidentally show up a couple of times a week to the same places where you two happen to be out together.

I’m just sayin’.

Yours in Christ,

Debbie

If I saw that thong clad woman while we were out together and Michael didn’t seem to notice her, I would point her out to him in a heartbeat. I’d say something prudish like, “Michael, would you look at what that girl is wearing? Someone ought to spank her bottom for dressing like that.”

Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

The best sex we ever had was a night when we went to a haunted house where there were lots of scantily dressed teenaged girls squealing and bouncing around us in line. When I look back on that evening, I wish I had tape recorded them.

Go forth in a thong, brave soul. Do it for womankind. Wear it year round.

Me? I’m wearing granny panties, and I like to keep them covered. That’s why my holey jeans have to go.