Undies!

I bought new underwear!

I’m not supposed to be excited about this, this is supposed to just be a thing that you do.  But for me, it’s not.  It’s more like a thing you should do, but if you didn’t do, like for a really long time, I mean who really cares?  V few people see my underwear, and they have….already made their choices.

This has been my attitude for a long time.  I remember being in my 20s, and at Dragon Con, a beloved nerd convention that, at the time, me and all my friends treated as family reunion.  We stuffed ourselves into hotel rooms and slept on top of each other like puppies to be able to afford the enriching experience of just being a loud and proud nerd for a long weekend, plus on top of that midnight dance parties, dorm rooms of doom, and epic elevator rides.  

Plus creepy clowns! It's Con!!

Here's a hint:
this was not my aesthetic.

And there I am one day, my younger self who cared about things like dressing for Con.  So I’m getting dressed in the hotel room (I was already dressed, but I was changing from Day-Con to Night-Con clothes.  It’s a thing.) My bestie and her mom are in the room, and I just live my life and put on clothes that I totally don’t regret, you’re only young once. 

And then like 3 weeks later I get a package and it’s from my friend’s mom, and she sent me underwear because she was sad that my underclothes are in such sad state compared to my carefully selected and totally not regrettable overclothes.

I think at that time the issue was that I had found an underwear I liked, and wore it often enough that it was worn.  Plus it was too big/I really have nothing going on out back, so a little bit of baggy-butt was happening too.  All of this was fine with me but a discerning outside eye was like, “Mm, baby, no.”

Today that is not the issue.  The issue is that I have not bought new undies since I was on the farm, and so all of those are farm undies, which means all of them are--- distressed?  Sagging under the distress of their lives.  Dingy under the dirt they sat in and were washed with.  Not…..pretty.

I mean, ok, I have lots of other undies (because clean underwear is the line between just continuing to live my life and having to do the worst of chores, laundry), but they are:

Nobody wants this.

•         The undies I never wore on the farm, so I’ve had them since I was thin and less invested in crotch comfort (those are two separate categories.  I have  both).
•         The undies I bought one time when, under much duress and a critical reckoning with the true real state of the world, I finally got a new bra (this is a whole separate issue), and the lady convinced me to get matching undies, which are…scant.
•           The undies I desperation-bought one time which are so big and slippery (no seriously though) that they will just walk right off of me if I am in a skirt.  In pants, they will merely cause a situation similar to when your socks slide down in your shoe but more dire and less publicly fixable.

Pretty sure.

To be clear, I desperation-bought those underwear because I was like, all your underwear are terrible and you are an adult, get new underwear.  But then I did, and I got burned, and I resented it.  Bitter me was like, I guess I never buy underwear again.

But seriously though.  All those movies and TV shows from my youth that were like, be sure you’re wearing clean underwear, you might be in an accident!  Those fake moms were having nightmares about me specifically.  My undies left clean behind like 160 washer cycles ago.  My crotch is often scantily clad in the lacy remains of what was once rock solid granny panties, and I’m not sorry.

But I have been drafty, so I decided to look into it.

Here’s the thing when you are a cheap ass like me.  Lady’s undies cost like $8 per, for cheap ones.  That’s normal, but also….so effing ridiculous.  

I was googling images to go with
the concept of, "can't you
 just DIY underwear,
 I'm crafty af"
and I stumbled upon this image
 of homemade underwear

 that makes it look

 like you pooped yourself

and I love it so much
I had to share.

Hats off, mystery internet underwear maker.
Hats off. 

I bough a whole dress last week for $18.  A whole dress.  That I can wear to work, no problem.  And it covers my joyous sex pot, and no one even needs to know what’s going on under there anyway.  $18, which is precisely two point no-one-cares times more than any pair of underwear (which covers like 1/8 of the same space) than I’ve ever seen that didn’t come in a 6 pack from Target.  So I get mad about the price of underwear. 

For years, my mom would throw a pack of Target granny panties into our Christmas.  She was just quietly being like, ok but have clean underwear.  And thank God, cuz now I’ve worn them and worn them out. When I was young I didn’t—no one wants high waisted white cotton panties.  Until you’re on a farm, sitting in dirt and sweating to a degree you didn’t think possible.  And then you’re like, oh, I see the practical side of this.  And then you look at pretty underwear, and think, mmmm but you’re dumb tho.... 

And expensive!  And no one knows if I’m wearing them but me!

Anyway, that was my life for a rrrrrrrl long time.  Like from the farm til last week.  I was sort of getting to a crisis situation, and was tired of looking in the mirror at my XL body in M undies from 2001.   Annnnnnnd allllllllsoooooo…Prime Day.

Prime day, which as a true progressive I was supposed to boycott but as a person with limited income and a serious wardrobe situation was all about, gave me an opportunity.  The opportunity to bulk buy undies, new, in my size, that were cheaper than usual (I’m still mad at the price but, again, crisis time), that could come to my house without me having to do more than hit “place order.”

So I did!  I bought...all the underwear.  I have like 100 new pairs of underwear now.  They fit.  They are cute-ish.  They are comfy.  They are FINE, they are perfect, they are doomed to being worn into the ground, and I am wearing them now.

Or am I?
Still no one's business.