Disco Panties: Not What You Think

Last month, Victoria's Secret had their Semi-Annual Sale, and I'm a sucker for both sales and extra pairs of underwear, so I managed to make it to my local mall on the sale's last day to sift through the panties and bra bins alongside prepubescent girls and overweight grandmas.

Just so we're clear: I am not a representative of either of those demographic groups. Those just happen to be the kinds of women who shop at my local mall. Must. Drive. Farther. Away.

And what in the hell are thirteen year old girls doing in the mall on a Monday afternoon? Isn't there a school they could be going to or drugs they could be experimenting with in somebody's garage? Get out of my way.

I digress.

We all know that bras, robes, and pajamas can be tried on in the dressing rooms, but panties, thongs, and other lower extremity undergarments? Not so much. And if you do try that stuff on, you are gross, and I never want to go shopping with you.

Don't even start with me about how you try underwear on over the underwear you are already wearing. That is still gross because we all know that nether region aromas can seep through ANYTHING. Fact.

So, what do you do in order to determine how a pair of underwear is supposed to fit you without actually trying it on? You hold it up, stretch it around in front of your face without looking stupid, and decide one of two things:

1) Your butt will fit these. Buy them.

2) Your butt will not fit these. Ever.

I know that I simplified the process, but there is some serious, PhD-level mathematics going on there. You have to concentrate on your butt and be honest with yourself about how big it really is. Some extreme math equations start running through your mind: the size of your jeans plus the size of your fat jeans minus the water weight you're carrying from lunch divided by the elasticity of your favorite pair of sweat pants.

Very complicated stuff. Do not expect the men in your lives to understand this.

I am very good at solving these math problems because I am not in denial about the size of my ass (Looking at you, JLo), and because of this amazing skill, all of my underwear fits very comfortably, and I never have panty lines...I bet you were dying to know that about me.

However, during this last shopping trip, I did not consider something very important: the amount the underwear will stretch to fit over my butt and how the design of the underwear will be altered.

Because of my error in judgment, I now own a pair of what my husband calls "Disco Panties." I thought they were going to be light gray. They were very stretchy when I pulled them around and calculated my sums, so I assumed they would stay this nice light gray color once I put them on.

I was very wrong. They are stretchy because they are, like, completely made out of polyester shiny shit, so when I put them on, my entire backside turns into a disco ball.

Normally, I would get rid of such an embarrassing pair of underwear, but I am married, and he's seen me in them.

The jig is up.