I woke up this morning with a wedgie.
I was deep in sleep mode, when I was rudely awoken by what seemed like thirty yards of fabric stuck between my cheeks. In my semi-lucid state, I dug it out, and went back to sleep. But darn it if that fabric didn’t shift with my body and bury itself in the abyss again!
As I lay there, awake, and angry about all the action my butt was getting, I seriously thought about throwing away the underwear I was wearing – if I wanted any kind of material stuffed in there, I’d wear a thong! And mama don’t do no thongs. Personally, I prefer not to wear them because I always feel like I have to pull it out. But I have several girlfriends who are of this mentality: Thongs or Die.
Pretty passionate group, eh? Lemme try to get an idea of where their passion has taken them. They won a small – though short lived – victory in the 80s, when exercise leotards went thong:
“Aerobic_exercise_-_public_demonstration12” by Myself (Own work) | CC BY-SA 2.5 | Wikimedia Commons
I think that some of their more enthusiastic members have been working hard this past decade to bring some of that glory back:
Though they’ve owned Brazil and South Beach for quite some time now, I think the vast majority of their members are very discreet, preferring the style just so they can avoid VPL (Visible Panty Lines):
“Schwarze Glanzradlerhose” by Lord Copplepot | Public Domain | Wikimedia Commons
I applaud their ability to ignore floss chaffing – it takes a great deal of mental power to do that. The rest of us granny panty wearers would probably be right behind them if it wasn’t for that.