When Your Only Option is a Thong
It was one of those weeks. Dishes piled high in the sink. Couch cushions skewed all over, with one of them on the floor. Paperwork in a heap in the corner of the kitchen counter. Somewhere in the middle of the paperwork pile sat three envelopes. School registrations, I reminded myself. Gotta get those school registrations sent in.
But first, I needed to jump in the shower and get myself dressed. The oldest kid had to be at football camp in 40 minutes. It was a 25 minute drive to his school. I quickly showered and headed off to the closet to grab some clothes. One look into the underwear drawer and I knew I was in trouble. All I could find were a large pile of bras, a misplaced sock and a bathing suit. My eyes turned to the laundry basket--it was over flowing. I was clearly out of underwear.
Scrounging through the drawer, I discovered bras that were past their prime. I kept them around for those painting projects that never seemed to materialize. You know, for those days where you don't want to have a painting accident and mess up the pretty lace bras.
Digging through the underwires, my hand struck paydirt.
Yes, a thong. A tiny scrap of material from my college days. I don't think the hubby even remembered that I had one. Heck, I didn't even remember that I had one.
Now keep in mind, I was zillions of pounds lighter in my college days. But here's the thing, a thong is very forgiving of the flesh. Since there's barely anything to cover, anyone of any size can get away with wearing them. Sure enough, I was able to slip the thing on and quickly got dressed.
By the time I dropped the kid off at school, I remembered why the tiny scrap of material went unused. It's like having a permenant wedgie when you're wearing it.
I went home and did laundry. The underwear drawer was quickly filled.
The thong went in the garbage.