If your panties don’t come up to your armpits, you paid too much.

Do you ever have those days where you just seem hell-bent to make a total ass of yourself? If you answered “no,” you clearly don’t hang out with me enough. Or eat enough cheese. But that might be a different issue. I’ll keep you posted.

I was at the outlet mall with my mom and sister, browsing the Jockey outlet. I don’t want to let you in on the secrets of my underwear drawer.

But I’m going to anyway. (I think we all saw that coming.) What I’m about to show you is not all I’ve got. Keep in mind that I have some “age appropriate” underwear, as Carter calls it. (Note: “Age appropriate” means underwear with see-through panels, missing pieces, or barely enough fabric to cover a, …shall we say, “curvaceous” rear. In other words, apparently, my granny panties aren’t “it.”) 

This was why I went into Jockey. (And why I strategically went without Carter.) 


Doesn’t she look like she’s having the best time in her full-coverage panties made of eco-friendly bamboo fibers which are extra soft and allow her to feel breezy and free all day without the fear of either bunching or panty lines?

Clearly, I haven’t given this any thought at all.

And the answer is “F*ck yes, she does.”

So I’ve selected an armful of my granny pants, i.e. the best panties ever made by man or deity and I remember that I’m married and all and that since I’m married and all, I should probably look for something for Carter.

It is worth noting, unfortunately, that Jockey was the last store I visited that day and therefore I wasn’t having this burst of common decency until the end. But I had it. So it counts. (Note: the next day, Carter made out like a bandit and I didn’t buy a thing for myself. …Okay, that’s not true. I got ice cream. So, I didn’t really get something. I merely added to the percussive nature of my thighs grating together in Southern heat and humidity. Yep. Yum.) 

Anyway, I went to the mens wall in Jockey and spotted what appeared to be some compression shorts that Carter is always talking about needing. They were being modeled by a very athletic looking mannequin torso set up in front of a picture of the love-baby of John Wayne and Cary Grant wearing nothing but these short things.

Don’t believe me?


I didn’t want to titillate anyone too much.

So I go to the wall of “compression fabrics” to examine these “shorts”, which I found nearly indistinguishable from those spandex bike shorts I wore obsessively back in the nineties. And because I am a careful consumer, I decided to give them a really good examination.

I turned them backward and forward. Looks fine.

I pulled at the waistband. Mmhmm, mmhmm. Yes. Appears to be quality.

Keep in mind, for your mental image, that I was only able to do all of this field examination hands-free because I was wearing the 6 pairs of underwear I intended to buy for myself like bangles all up my forearm. Because shopping baskets are for p*ssies, that’s why.

All seemed in order, except for one tiny thing that I could not figure out. I could not find the emergency exit, so to speak. I am told that this is called a “fly” but really, who knew that term extended to underwear as well as pants? Okay, you probably all knew that. But stick with me, my story gets better.

I was determined to find this elusive fly before purchasing the compression shorts. So there I am, pulling at the crotch of these things from all angles, trying to find an opening. And yes, to my chagrin, I do mean all angles.

I would like to tell you that this only went on for a few seconds. I would really like to tell you that. But as you well know, I am determined and I am a pain in the ass.

It went on for literal minutes before I was stopped by a kindly, if not slightly horrified, panty-store attendant who gently informed me in her deep southern accent, “Sugar, you can tug all you want, but that ain’t gonna open for you.”

Story of my life? Or the best “that’s what she said” ever uttered in real time?

Upon telling Carter about this incident, and about the 6 men who watched me assault that spandex (transfixed, I might add), he had such a fit of hysterical laughing that I thought he was going to go all “weird dude from Mary Poppins who can fly and drink tea on the ceiling” on me and that I was going to have to go all “my morbidly obese hamster suffocated herself in her sleep” on him. You know, just to bring him back down to earth. Not to crush his dreams or happiness or anything.

ME: It’s not funny. Who the hell makes men’s underwear without a flap/slit thingy? What, do they expect you to take time away from all of your athletic activities to sit down to pee?


ME: Clearly, they don’t know you at all. Maybe it wasn’t a design flaw. Maybe I just didn’t look hard enough.

CARTER: Babe, from the sound of it, if there had been even a gap in the stitching, I think you would have found it.

And then he went back to laughing. For 12 hours. I guess it’s “age-inappropriate” underwear for a while in this house, Carter. Have I mentioned how comfortable these ribcage-high panties are?

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  1. I don’t want to alarm anyone, but do you think the fellow in those pictures realises that he has a huge smiley face instead of a penis? You might want to mention that to him sometime.

  2. Why does no one ever get cell phone video if the really AWESOME stuff, like a determined redhead man-handling *giggle snort* a pair of mens’ full-coverage banana-hammock?
    I’m betting it you’d had a cat doing it THEN someone would have put it on YouTube!

  3. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE that you not only had this experience, but that you wrote about it for us. Bonus: That you told Carter. Hilarious!!!!! Thanks!!! 🙂

  4. That girl in the photo would never wear that stuff in real life. She’d buy the cute bikinis and lacy bras. I don’t like her. Imposter. I am almost 50. I’m allowed to start wearing ugly yet comfy underwear. I’ve earned the right.

    And I want an answer to the question– what the heck were those things and would a man pull them down to whiz? I would have been stretching them too. But I’m almost 50. I wouldn’t have cared who watched. Just push on my teeth, pretending to adjust the dentures, and carry on.

    • So true. And I kind of hate her for that. My motto with panties is “The bigger the better.” True statement.

      I have no idea how they are supposed to work. Nor did I really care too much who saw me. At least, I tried not to.

  5. Ok hubbies undies don’t have a fly in them either it seems to be the thing now days for under pants to be flyless……but hell the vision in my head of you examining the underwear for a fly was priceless……..

    Me I wear granny panties but then I am well not a granny but a nanna I don’t like the term granny……..lol I am also short and large and like my underwear to fit and not make me feel like they are sucked up my butt crack…….lol

  6. OMG LMAO!!!! You are flipping hilarious. I may pee my pants. I can just SEE you doing that. So happy my internet is back on so I can indulge in your craziness. I have missed the hell out of you. Brilliant.


  7. Mick Sturbs says:

    There are those of us, mostly brought up in the 1960’s, who are big fans of ‘Harvest Festivals’ (All is safely gathered in). Personally, I would far prefer to see a fine looking woman in fetching granny panties than a thong, which I consider to be the work of Satan. Unless you are blessed with the figure to get away with a thong, it is likely to make you look like one of those balloon animals crafted to amuse children. What is allegedly a ‘sexy’ garment, will disappear into the folds and crevices which are supplied to you by Mother Nature, gravity and childbirth, to ensure healthy pangs of anguish every time you walk past a Victoria’s Secret store. But here’s the funny thing… women buy those bits of lace and frippery, not for men, but to make themselves feel sexy. Men (unless they are perverts like me) mostly wouldn’t care what you wear. It’s how a woman is that makes her sexy, not what she wears.

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