Don’t Hate Me ‘Cus I’m Bootyfull
Marlo, forgive me for I have sinned. It’s been twenty-two years since my last confession.
Last week I shared a deep and scary secret – somewhat fortuitously – with my mm/c superiors. Unbeknownst to them, I’d never revealed the personal tidbit to a single soul before, as it’s not something I’m terribly proud of (yes, she’s ending a sentence with a preposition – bitch). But because trying to prevent gossip from spreading amongst Marlo’s minions is like eating soup with a fork (needless to say, we’re a P f-ing R agency), I might as well share it with all you anonymous folk: I wear granny panties.
Yea. So what. And I’m sure a lot more of us do than you think. This blog post isn’t to raise sympathy for closet wearers of senior citizen skivvies. I just wanted to share the benefits with all you haters and take a stab at thwarting the stigma attached to the unsexiest underthings around.
For me, I wear them because ass floss never was my thing; the sensation caused by a piece of string grazing your poop shoot twelve hours a day isn’t exactly titillating. It probably is for some of you sickos, though. Furthermore, the kind of granny panties I’m talking about serve a true purpose. I splurge for the granny panty shorts. (See above.)
I ain’t a fatty but I do have a big booty and the thighs to match. I love skirts and dresses, especially for summer, but the heat and humidity amplified by the fabric tent that is a trendy shift lends itself to some serious summer chafe. You know, chub rub. And that shit sucks hard.
Until silicone cream for chub chafe hit the market recently, the granny shorts were my one and only saving grace. I’d slip that shit on under a dress and no one would ever know; I could finally stop cursing my mother for giving me her pear genes. (Love ya, Mommy!)
So, don’t hate ‘em till you try ‘em. And if you’re a skinny bitch and my words don’t apply, then you can stick this up your floss-laden asshole because you have no fucking idea how lucky you are.
Posted by Liza