Threadingwater's on the road this week, but that doesn't mean the fun has to stop. In fact, the fun is just beginning. Welcome guest blogger, Kris.
Maybe you’ve seen me pick up prescriptions, corral carpool kids, power-walk through you neighborhood, crack up with my knitting buddies. But unless you’ve seen me through the security cams in fitting rooms, I bet you don’t know why I’ve got that free-and-easy stride, that cocky twinkle in my eye.
Before I answer any questions, I’ll ask a few. Do you hate those tell-tale lines? Think yeast belongs in bread? Dream of walking down a sidewalk sans wedgie? Forget burning bras—it’s time to torch those panties.
Back in the bad old pre-feminist days, women may have donned corsets, but they favored loose, crotchless undergarb on the advice of their era’s experts, who believed that women’s genitals needed air, not lots of trapped moisture, to be healthy. By luck, they were right, and modern-day uber-gyno Christiane Northrup, M.D., concurs. In her classic Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom she advises women to “Avoid panty hose when possible, or cut out the crotch.” I say, “Amen,” sisters!
Since I went commando a couple of years ago (oops! Did I let that slip?), I kissed off yeast infections, panty lines and the low-rise/stretch-denim dilemma. And my hootch has never been happier. She’s breathin’ the air. She’s unbound by wedgies. She’s cool and clean. Woman, thou art loosed! Hallelujah!
If those little perks weren’t enough, my happy crotch is in far better shape to entertain my favorite visitor. (Yes, honey, I’m talking about you.) He likes the change, which I liken to tearing down a dark, damp, cramped entry to make way for a breezy porch. Far nicer for welcoming a special guest.
So run to the nearest bathroom and shimmy off whatever kind you’re wearing—big ol’ granny panties, all-cotton bikinis, microfiber high-cuts, lace-trimmed butt floss (usually marketed under the trade name “thong”). Empty out that panty drawer. And strike a match.
Can’t go cold turkey? Then keep the ones that match your sexiest bras, and a pair or two of plain-Janes. Just limit the use of the former to seduction scenes and save the latter for those heavy-bleeding days or the next time you miss the feel of fabric bunched between your butt-cheeks.
Speaking of bras, those one-time outcasts from the lingerie drawer, give your favorite one a hug. Buy it a few new friends. And revel in support and all its perks. I especially enjoy the confident knowledge that if that nip in the air gets a rise out of mine, the girls will be pointed to a perky 2 o’clock rather than an unsupported 4:30.
Now, your marching orders: Work out without a wedgie. Get some wind up that skirt. And don’t let anything come between you and your Tommy Hilfigers. I may look like somebody’s mother (oh yeah, I am somebody’s mother…) but I’m here to tell you: You’ll be glad you did.