PIC has a thing about my underwear. As in he hates it. And I can’t say that I blame him… I do take a bit of an anti-capitalist-there’s-nothing-wrong-with-10-year-old-underwear approach to my lingerie.
(Actually let me re-phrase that. It’s an anti-consumerist approach, not an anti-capitalist approach. Bernie Sanders is anti-capitalist and I’m pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with his underwear).
Here’s my take on the situation: I do have some nice pairs of underwear, and I save them for special occasions. But days when I’m just sitting around the house or going to yoga or getting my period? Days like those are perfect for sub-par underwear.I used to do most of our laundry and I’m neurotic enough that tasks like pre-planning my good underwear days to coincide with date nights come easily to me. But then PIC started doing more of the laundry. He started noticing. He started saying things like, “This underwear has a hole in it. Wait. No. This underwear has two holes in it! Why are you keeping this???”
We went to Target a few days later and he convinced me to splurge on a new Hanes Her Way 3-pack. (This is, after far as I know, the only proper way to buy underwear.) But underwear shopping is personal. It takes time. You have to be in the right mood. You can’t have your fiancé standing behind you pressuring you into making a decision before you’re ready.
I panicked. I panicked and ended up with ugliest granny panties in the universe. They were too big and the color… well, the color could only be described as something between “baby puke” and “band aid beige.”
I put them on right there in the parking lot when we got back to PIC’s car.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m putting on this stupid new underwear that you made me buy!”
“Right now? Here?”
“Because I’ve been going commando this whole time, okay? I forgot to do laundry.”
He just shook his head.
“I’m a dancer,” I reminded him. “I can change anywhere. Any time. Don’t you know that by now?”
He shook his head again.
Since then, I’ve conceded to dispose of a few pairs, but the two-holers have remained a point of contention between us. They’re black. And comfy. And I like them.
But then I accidentally wore them to try on wedding dresses.
This, in case you don’t know, is a cardinal sin.
I hadn’t been planning to try on dresses that day (hence the fact that I was wearing black underwear in the first place), and I certainly didn’t count on undressing in front of a sales associate at David’s Bridal.
Dressing room mirrors are bad enough in the first place— all that weird lighting makes you look like you’re the bearded lady in a 19th-century freak show— but they’re down right horrific when you’re wearing black underwear with two holes in it.
When I told PIC about my embarrassment, he just shook his head and said it served me right.
I’m pretty sure I should save the pair in question for our wedding night.