Remember the Seinfeld episode about “shrinkage” where George worries about whether women know that a man’s anatomy reacts like a “frightened turtle” after he’s been in cold water, because a woman saw him naked right after he went swimming? “I was in the pool!” He shouted.
A few years ago, I discovered the female equivalent to that scenario. A friend set me up on a blind date with a good friend of her husband’s. Because he was a trusted friend of theirs I did not mind him picking me up at my apartment. Gotta love chivalry! He arrived smelling very good and looking even better. He was slightly early, so I still had two loads of clean laundry in a basket on my couch that I had not had time to put away. I invited him in and quickly ran to the other room for my sweater.
As I was headed back down the hall, my eye caught the laundry basket long enough for me to notice a horrific site. I had left my “FrumpSista” panties, as I call them, in plain sight, prominently exposed on top of the heap of clean laundry!
You know the panties I’m talking about, right? Not quite as bad as granny panties, but almost. The pair that you bought in a three for five bucks package from the TJ Maxx close out bin, that you only wear during your period when you have to wear a pad and need the wide crotch to wrap the wings around? That pair. The most boring, lace free, unfeminine pair of panties ever known to womankind. The panties with the “frills kills” attitude that all other lacy briefs and sexy thongs refuse to associate with in the underwear drawer. The pair that never saw the inside of a Victoria’s Secret store even in their infancy; and in their wildest dreams, aren’t even a distant third cousin of Victoria.
