Day Fourteen

I’m not a TMI person and tend to be annoyingly modest, but I need to talk about this.

My age is something I have never been stressed out about. I can’t do anything about it so there was no crying when I turned 30 or 40. I am 47 and I quietly embrace what comes with it.

I’m pretty sure I just did my first old lady thing, though, when buying new underwear the other day. I accidentally purchased what people call granny panties. This is probably too much information, and I am certain my sons stopped reading a sentence ago. My unpopular opinion is that underwear aren’t always necessary, but when they are, they have to be comfortable.

I bought undies in bulk, yes, bulk, like in a big, clear plastic bag. I opened this package of underwear, and took out the first one which was taped to the other seven. It just kept coming out, like it was three pairs. Oh no, it was one, luxuriously huge pair of skivvies.

“Oh, hell no,” I said aloud. Then, I tried them on. (I don’t know why.)

This must be a turning point for many, and nobody talks about it. When do we stop caring about what underwear looks like and start caring about what it feels like only?

No lines. No tugging. Just silky-smooth bigness that goes way up past my belly button. I mean, I look like a complete dork, but who cares?

Is there any hope for me? If there is, do I want to take the help? Is my vanity drifting?

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