Today is my birthday. As a gift to myself, I’ve given myself permission to unwrap a topic of grave concern, impacting those affected on a daily basis. No, I won’t be penning a solution to bring about world peace. No, this will not be a discourse on global warming. No, I will not be listing the ten most promising paths to the fountain of youth, although that would be nice to locate, since I veered off that course a few months back.
Instead, I’ll be writing on a topic everyone has dealt with at one time or another: IFUs. Ill-fitting underwear. I was hit with the gravity of this topic as I leaped youthfully from the shower this morning and grabbed a pair of ill-fitting underwear myself. If you have ever worn a pair of these for a day, you’ll understand the gravity of the situation—when elastic which has been given the task of keeping everything in line gives way and gravity actually takes over.
You see, leg elastic has been given the task of wrapping comfortably around the top portion of each leg, and once that’s gone, well, it’s gone. I realize women could easily solve this problem if we were to simply resort to replacing our drawers (pun intended) with thong bikinis. I hesitate to do so, personally, for a wide, wide variety of reasons .With thongs, there is no elastic to wrap around each leg, plus the elastic which does exist is designed to creep up within a portion of the hindermost anatomy where—typically—no one wants fabric to intrude.
Case in point.
A little girl who shall remain nameless came to a party with her panties on backwards. When her mother tried to remedy the situation, the determined tyke shook her three-year-old finger at her mother, explaining, “My unnerwears is up my butt crack, Mom!” What a bum rap.
The second illustration calls for even more imagination. My friend said that even if she tattooed a thong bikini upon her posterior, she would always be trying to remove the string from between her cheeks.
Which brings me to further expound upon the serious nature of this post. The next time you meet up with an unpleasant situation—a crabby coworker who’s dealing you a bad hand; a politician, perhaps, who is stacking the deck in his or her favor; or even an entire football team attempting to regain a winning streak—the problem may not be office policy, governmental stonewalling or the need for more effective cheerleading. The real problem, the bottom line, may be IFUs.
The next time you’re confronted with folks who really kick your keester, try to cut them some slack. Imagine them in in IFUs. Understand their pain. Do it as a present to yourself. And to them.
Think about the solutions this could bring about. At the annual Christmas party at work, you could distribute gift cards all around to Fredericks of Hollywood. When world leaders meet, send them new boxers. Instead of yearly stadium seats, it’s jockeys all around.
You’ll be glad you did. While you’re at it, buy yourself some, will ya? Gravity, remember.
LaRayne Topp
Instead, I’ll be writing on a topic everyone has dealt with at one time or another: IFUs. Ill-fitting underwear. I was hit with the gravity of this topic as I leaped youthfully from the shower this morning and grabbed a pair of ill-fitting underwear myself. If you have ever worn a pair of these for a day, you’ll understand the gravity of the situation—when elastic which has been given the task of keeping everything in line gives way and gravity actually takes over.
You see, leg elastic has been given the task of wrapping comfortably around the top portion of each leg, and once that’s gone, well, it’s gone. I realize women could easily solve this problem if we were to simply resort to replacing our drawers (pun intended) with thong bikinis. I hesitate to do so, personally, for a wide, wide variety of reasons .With thongs, there is no elastic to wrap around each leg, plus the elastic which does exist is designed to creep up within a portion of the hindermost anatomy where—typically—no one wants fabric to intrude.
Case in point.
A little girl who shall remain nameless came to a party with her panties on backwards. When her mother tried to remedy the situation, the determined tyke shook her three-year-old finger at her mother, explaining, “My unnerwears is up my butt crack, Mom!” What a bum rap.
The second illustration calls for even more imagination. My friend said that even if she tattooed a thong bikini upon her posterior, she would always be trying to remove the string from between her cheeks.
Which brings me to further expound upon the serious nature of this post. The next time you meet up with an unpleasant situation—a crabby coworker who’s dealing you a bad hand; a politician, perhaps, who is stacking the deck in his or her favor; or even an entire football team attempting to regain a winning streak—the problem may not be office policy, governmental stonewalling or the need for more effective cheerleading. The real problem, the bottom line, may be IFUs.
The next time you’re confronted with folks who really kick your keester, try to cut them some slack. Imagine them in in IFUs. Understand their pain. Do it as a present to yourself. And to them.
Think about the solutions this could bring about. At the annual Christmas party at work, you could distribute gift cards all around to Fredericks of Hollywood. When world leaders meet, send them new boxers. Instead of yearly stadium seats, it’s jockeys all around.
You’ll be glad you did. While you’re at it, buy yourself some, will ya? Gravity, remember.
LaRayne Topp
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