I’m in a Monday sort of mood. I couldn’t seem to get into the swing of things today. Probably because half the office is out on vacation. Without me. What nonsense is this? I’m in the mood to write some thoughtful prose about the meaning of life and the pursuit of happiness—I haven’t written anything serious in a while. But I won’t. I’ve decided to be proactive and stamp out the melancholy with some Fall Out Boy and a story about . . . underwear. Just in case you all haven’t heard enough about my undergarments in recent months.
During my junior and senior year of college, I had a couple of roommates who thought wearing clothes in their own home was highly overrated. This idea quickly spread throughout our apartment until every one of us was likely to be found lounging about in varying degrees of undress.
I will never forget the morning when M piously informed me that I the shirt I had chosen was much too low cut to wear to the office for my internship. This struck me as mildly unfair because, at the time, she had on a pink thong and nothing else. Absolutely. Nothing. Else.
My underwear quickly gained a (somewhat deserved) reputation for less-than-sexiness. The chief complaint in this department being, if I recall correctly, “it covers your whole ass.” Well, yes. It did. But then wasn’t I eventually going to cover my ass up again with some pants? I didn’t see the problem, and for a while everyone’s underwear lived side by side in harmony. Until the tension simply became too great and required some action. My roommates carted me off to Victoria’s Secret for an “underwear intervention.”
At the time, it didn’t seem all that bizarre to me, but looking back now, I sincerely hope that the phrase “underwear intervention” was not coined because of me. Please tell me there is at least one other person to whom this has happened. Just one. Please?
In the end, I managed to choose an only slightly alarming pair that passed muster with everyone else because of their leopard print pattern and slightly scanty bum coverage. Success. Everyone went home happy. Until I actually wore the underwear and discovered that slightly less bum coverage quickly translated into no bum coverage at all as they quickly worked their way further and further UP.
So basically, I spent most of the day trying not to walk in front of people while fixing a semi-permanent wedgie. That was also a day that I had to give a tour of the school to prospective students. I usually liked this job because it paid under the table and gave me an outlet for the excessive attention whoring that theatre alone couldn’t satisfy. But THAT tour on THAT day was the LONGEST TOUR EVER. I spent the entire hour and a half debating whether or not I could get away with adjusting my underwear. And for an entire hour and a half, I couldn’t find a good time to do it, because I was either talking to an audience whose attention was entirely focused on me or I was walking in front of a group of people who all had a clear view of my behind.
Victoria’s Secret was quickly relegated to bottom-of-the-bin, only-wear-it-when-you-haven’t-done-laundry-in-a-month status.
Why, you may ask, did I feel the need to share this particularly riveting tale about my delicates? Because I am super impressed with myself: I HAVE FINALLY FOUND A USE FOR THE VICTORIA’S SECRET UNDERWEAR. That’s right. I’m just that good.
It’s now the pair of underwear that lives in the bottom of my gym bag. So when I crossfit at lunchtime, only to realize I’ve forgotten to pack an extra pair of underwear, I’m all set. I’ve ALREADY packed an extra pair, which, granted, may not be the most comfortable but are far superior to suffering in silence while the scratchy tag on the inside of my pants tortures me for the rest of the afternoon.
I’m a genius. I’ve solved two of life’s most pressing problems in one fell swoop: how to avoid going commando at work and what to do with the unbearably bothersome result of an “underwear intervention.”
Plus, I think I’ve managed to use the word underwear about 50 times in one post. Which has to be some sort of record. Even for me.