The Little Underwear That Could

About two months ago, I bought new underwears. It was love at first wear.  It just felt right. Wearing it gave me that mmph.  I might be wrong, but I think I was a better and happier person for a few days.  After that, the excitement died down. You know --- kinda like a regular romantic relationship with homo sapiens.

With 5% spandex in them, these underwears felt like they were made just for me. That was until I started going to the gym.  I noticed that each time I was walking on the treadmill, I found myself having to literally dig my underwear out! The darn thing had gone and switched on me --- right under my nose.

/

Picture of one of the actual naughty underwears

The underwears are hipsters. I love their fit. And I love their feel. I just hate the mysterious wedgies that comes along with them when I'm at the gym. It's not a total loss because these wedgies mostly occur at the gym.  When they occur outside the gym, well, what can I say? Wedgies happen.

Walking on a treadmill, earphones in my ears, mind on God-knows-what, and eyes on hot men lifting weights (let's call it "appreciating God's work"), the last thing I feel like doing is looking behind me to make sure that no one is looking, and then digging my underwear out - several times. And I am almost completely sure that at least one person has seen me doing this.

The way I saw it, I had only two solutions:

1.  Buy new underwears

2.  Go to the gym without any underwear.

Yeap.  Option number two has been working pretty darn fine for me.  Of course, this option isn't very convenient when Ms. Flow is around.  But then again, I don't see the walls of the gym when Ms. Flow is around.  Exercising while blood is trickling from my honey pot just has a way of screwing up my exercise routine.  Who knows? It could be my obsessive thought about the blood staining everything - including me and the gym floor.  Anyway, it is my hope that my gym pants don't split - right between my butt cheeks - while I'm at the gym.  Let's face it: my ass has a thing for being exposed.

That said, the end of this post has left me with a queasy feeling: did I just post a picture of my actual underwear on verastic dot com?  At this juncture, I guess I cannot front or shakara for any of my readers and mention the popular line that we Nigerian girls like to say all too often, "After all, you have never seen my pant!"

It's Over

It's over between us.  Even though I have not officially broken up, I know it's over definitely over.  I might be wrong, but no1 ever goes into a relationship and hopes for it to end.  In my experience, the hope for it to end comes @ a later time - after the excitement and passion (which by the way are sometimes only a figment of one's imagination) has washed away and your eyes open up to the big mess you have put yourself in.  It is @ that time that one begins to wish for the end of the relationship.  It can also be referred to as the "Oh, Crap" moment. It appears that I have come to that moment and time.

After the agonizing, almost-self-mutilating, physical and emotional trauma I suffered from my previous relationship with my boy shorts, I swore to never, ever, ever be caught with an uncomfortable underwear.  I only started wearing boy shorts because of how pretty and colorful they were.  Talk about being shallow!  After I exited that relationship and successfully sought some counselling, I began to wear Hipsters.  They were my all and all, my soul mate in underwears: beautiful, colorful, and oh yes, comfortable.  Have I lost you?  Well, let me clarify: Yes, I am talking about my underwears.

The hipster underwear really hasn't done anything to me.  It has been nice to me.  Maybe that's the problem.  It has been too nice.  I now realize that the hipster was the rebound underwear, an underwear that I fell hard for just because I was in pain and needed someone something to comfort my pain.  So that is the story of how my butt cheeks fell into the warming comfort and embrace of the hipster.

Now that I'm feeling better (and totally over the hurt, pain, and suffering I experienced from the boy shorts), my eyes have opened, and I realize that the hipsters are just not sexy enough!  They're not even all that colorful.  Alright, I lie.  They're colorful enough.  But in terms of sexiness, on a scale of one to ten, the hipsters have 2.  See, that just isn't enough.  These hipsters don't make me feel sexy.  They don't make me feel all girly inside.  They don't compel me to dance in front of my mirror with a can of hair spray as my microphone while I gleefully, confidently belch out the song, "And I am telling you... I'm not going/ You're the best man I've ever known/ There's no way I can ever go/ No, no, there's no way/ No, no, no, no way/ I'm living without you/ I'm not living without you/ I don't wanna be free/ I'm staying... I'm staying/ And you, and you.../ You're gonna love me/ You're gonna love me....."  Well, you get the idea.  No need to type out the entire lyrics.  

Seriously, the hipsters don't make me want to sing this song.  Sure, I don't have the voice for the song, but that is sooooo not the point.  Instead, the hipsters make me wanna sing, "When a woman's fed up/ It ain't nothing you can do about it/ It's like running out of love/ And then it's too late to talk about it..."  So you see, it's obvious I need new underwears.  The question is which ones???  No, I will not wear thongs/g-strings/t-strings or whatever goes between my butt cheeks as my regular, everyday underwear.  The fact of the matter is that I am pretty content with the natural slice that God has put between my butt cheeks, so I do not intend to make the slice bigger by putting a string in it everyday.  Come on, people.  Think of something.

Z 

.... In case you're interested, my love affair with the hispters started here.

Wedgie Over Here, Wedgie Over There...

Wedgie everywhere....!!! All in favor of comfortable underwear, say "Aye!!"

When it comes to underwears, I usually have only two major criterias: comfortable & colorful. I need it comfortable because my butt cheeks are worth it, darn it!. They deserve to be clothed and adorned in only the most comforable piece of attire, something fit for royalty...in a Hanes package, of course. It has to be colorful because, well, even though my butt cheeks do not have seven colors of the rainbow making their debut on them, they (my butt cheeks) still have the right to feel the rainbow.

I occasionally wear T-strings. Not thongs o! T-strings r the very thin ones. Thongs r too thick, and for me, that is just too much material to be getting stuck between my butt cheeks. The T-strings r much more comfortable. You hardly feel them. But then, that's just me. That being said, I don't wear them everyday or every week. I don't think I even wear them every month. I only wear one when necessary. You know there are some outfits that just look better without panty lines abeg...like those extra tight skirts, yes? *wink, wink*

I used to wear "regular underwears" with bikini strings by their sides. I can't remember what they were called. I stopped wearing them because I couldn't find them anymore. Well, I found them, but just not the ones I liked. I switched to the sporty bikini ones. They have ropes by their sides too, but the ropes are thicker, and not quite as fascinating. They were just too.... errrr.

I recently switched to boy shorts. My people, that was where my trouble started oh. Those boy shorts are big enough to be confused as booty shorts. In fact, they are sometimes called booty shorts, but of course, I wouldn't wear them outside. I wouldn't even wear a booty short outside anyway, so whatever. But why did I switch to boy shorts? The ones I found were coloful, and they looked comfy. But as I later came to find out, those underwears were just fine for nothing. They succeeded in giving me a wedgie every time. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have a wedgie from an underwear that is almost as big as a booty short? Do you know? Oh, the horror!! Several times, I found myself standing in public places and wiggling around like I had something crawling on me. They were never the kind of wedgies that I could discretely pull out. They were always the kinds I had to stand in a corner where no one was looking, put my hand in the back of my pants (trousers) and pull the darn underwear down. Sometimes, I even said, "Forget who is looking. I can't take this anymore!!" and yes, I dug in. It didn't matter where I was...Walmart...on the street, church, bank, Best Buy...whatever!! Desperate situationes call for desperate measures, right? All this suffering for the sake of wearing a colorful underwear???

This didn't happen like once or twice a day. It happened several times a day. The wedgies I got were just phenomenal. They could not be ignored. They were the wedgies from hell. Two weeks ago, I went out with my ever outspoken mom. I was wearing a tight khaki-colored capri, and I had a serious wedgie, as usual. Being @ a public place, I pretended it wasn't there. However...

Mom asked, "What kind of underwear are you wearing? I can see everything. It's giving you pafinga." So 'pafinga' is mom's word for wedgie. That was it! That did it! If mom who wears glasses and sometimes doesn't even recognize people could see that I had a chronic wedgie, then that meant that the rest of the world could see it too. So it was with a broken heart that I came to terms with the harsh reality of my love-hate affair: Boy shorts had to go!

I went shopping on Monday, and I am now the proud wearer of hipsters underwears. No wedgies. No pafinga. They sit on my hips, so they don't show when I bend over (which was another problem I had with the boy shorts. They were pretty, but I didn't care for everyone else to see them when I bent over). The hipsters underwears are pretty too. They're comfy. I have to admit that I am a bit psychologically bruised from having my butt cheeks hang out everywhere but inside the underwear they were intended to hang out in. Thank goodness for hipsters. I may need a Shrink to get over this one.

The real problem now is....what to do with all those boy shorts??? I really wish I had a husband. I would have put him to good use. My good ol' hubby woulda been modeling around for me in the boy shorts by now. He mighta even worn my heels and thrown on a pink scarf around his neck. Boy, I can't wait to be married. Sooooo many ideas!!