I have a confession. Don't I always?
I'm fairly certain the last time I purchased undergarments of any sort not counting pantyhose was approximately four years ago. I only know this because lately I've been forced to dedicate three or four brain cells to the case. I know we've discussed this and I've blamed the lack of undergarments, specifically panties on my unwillingness to dig through the laundry basket and my proposed solution was to throw them over the laundry room door with the pantyhose so I'd have no more excuses.
Except they weren't there. Well, there might have been a pair or two but by and large, no panties. And then eventually no pantyhose either, other than a pair or two because the bottom line is that eventually they do disintegrate around you after enough wear. Pantyhose go faster than panties.
The bottom line is I'm out. I can't go longer than three or four days before I find myself in a flagrant state of commando which is more or less OK if I've located a pair of reasonably intact pantyhose but not particularly OK if I have not.
Here comes the confession part.
Yours truely has been commando for quite some time now. Commando in a skirt. Bare ass nekkid in a skirt. Good thing said skirts are lined and washable.
And don't start crying TMI at me either. Most of you have been around for far worse than that and if you're new to these parts better far warned and armed and all that.
Every day I tell myself, self, get up at noon and high tail it to the mall. Just get it done. Will take no more than thirty, hell maybe even twenty minutes IN TOTAL to get 'er done. Does this happen? NO. OF COURSE THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN.
Yesterday I barely make it home in time to get Little Girl to dance before the doors lock. The plan, as always is to rush home, log back in, work for precisely 37 minutes and then go back and get her thereby wasting precisely one gallon of gas. This irritates me to no end and I've already been thinking how to sit in the car and work offline for an hour when it occurs to me I could drop her at the curb and just keep driving toward the Danbury mall and probably get back before class lets out. I warn her. Little Girl, I might be late.
With a wicked grin she says, I sure hope so. Armed with saved pennies she has every intention of blowing the entire wad in the candy store and will wait for me there.
I high tail it to the mall and like Joe Namath in the pantyhose commercials (were those for Hanes?) I sprint for the sales table and sure enough there are the 5 for $25 (I swear, last time I was there they were 6 for $30 but wait isn't that the same thing?) and I find 10 I think I can cope with. I head for the register rifling through the remaining earmarked discretionary cash when I come across an American Express gift card leftover from Christmas and it is in the amount of $50. I am delighted. I am hopeful that it belongs to me and not one of the girls.
By the time the transaction is complete I have remembered where it came from. It does indeed belong to me. In the end there are four pennies remaining on the card which I believe entitles me to turn the thing into origami. As I drive South toward Little Girl's dance school I am composing a long overdue thank you note in my head.
Thank you for the Christmas panties. They were ever so timely.