Sitting in the back of my underwear drawer, beneath an eclectic mix of boxer panties, grannies, and bras, you will find a thong. Singular. Just one. And it’s over a decade old.
I seriously remember when I bought that thong, because I remember when I purchased all of my underwear. I remember, not because I have a sharp memory, but because that’s how often I buy panties.
For example, my last set of underwear were bought around the March time-frame. Before that? It was three years before we moved to Europe. And then another three years before that. Get the idea?
So I don’t buy new panties often. I will literally wear them until holes form all over the creation, and then I will wait a few more months until my birthday or Christmas to treat myself, and then I forget and it’s a new year. Oops.
I know, I know. You’re thinking, how lucky is this lady’s husband?! Holey, frayed panties can’t be every man’s kryptonite.
After a few rounds of panty de-stashing and ten years later, I still have that one thong left. I never bothered to replenish my scantily-clad underwear stash and I believe it was sometime during my second pregnancy where I threw away every pair of sexy underwear I owned. I don’t see the point in arguing with my mommy tummy to not flop over the top of the thing; the constant wedgie is not a sexy idea for me anymore. If I don’t want panty lines, I’ll just go commando. But that one thong. I just can’t seem to part with it.
It’s not even pretty, and this sounds weird, but it’s outdated. It has girly writing all over it in bubblegum pink and the trim is lacy. It’s definitely not my style anymore as I swing on the more modest, darker color underwear scene. Yet, there it remains; my fingers graze it from time to time, I pick it up and shove it back in there. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but it’s comforting, like that old high school sweater or that one t-shirt you can’t seem to part with.
My old thong is sentimental to me. I remember my life post-babies, marriage, and responsibilities. Even though I don’t remember what my body looked like ten years ago, I know that it used to be able to fit into that thong. And look good.
I don’t plan to change my underwear buying habits anytime soon. My philosophy is to get as much wear from them as I can. And that outdated thong getting no use whatsoever? Well, maybe I’ll hold onto it for another ten years. The twenty-year-old inside me isn’t ready to let it go just yet.
