Thong Gone Wrong

Not all women should wear a thong. Not a lightning bolt of a statement, I realize. But if this is common knowledge then why do so many women insist on doing so?

I am one of the women who falls into the category of ‘body type not thong-wearable’. I guess I used to have a bum fit enough to justify the tiny amount of triangular material, because I recently found a thong in my underwear drawer, but I no longer count myself in the, ‘body type conducible to thong wearing’.

My friend Michelle swears that thongs are comfortable.

I am sure that she is lying.

It is simply not possible, by any measure of physics, that a tiny little strip of fabric, heaved up into one’s nether-regions is at all comfy.

Plainly stated a thong is butt floss.

This morning, after one of the twins barfed all over the back seat of the minivan, I cleaned up the car, bathed the little girls, stuck them in clean p.j.s and into my bed and hopped into the shower myself. When I got out, they twins were resting so quietly that I didn’t want to spend too much time riffling through my drawers and risk disturbing them, so I grabbed a pair of underwear as quickly as possible.

How I grabbed a thong, that I haven’t attempted to wear in 15 years (and why I still have it), I will never figure out. But that is what I was grabbed and that is what I am wearing as I write this.

You know, there is a reason that school children are adverse to wedgies-- they range from uncomfortable, to painful-- and a thong is nothing more than an adult wedgie.

And there is no satisfaction in yanking the bum-climbing-culprit out of one’s crack, as there would be in a normal pair of underwear-- it just pops right back into place, somewhere up in the sternum.

And so, from this point forward, whether I am shaped like my current sausage roll, or fit and trim due to rigorous exercise, I swear that no matter the lack of underwear in my drawer I will never, ever wear a thong.

My husband’s Fruit of the Loom, tighty-whities are far more comfortable.