The "P" Word

Today, I feel weird. Besides the fact that I still feel like a “P” word (but the THE “P” word) from my uber cold that just does not seem to want to go away… I am also crampy and grumpy and bloated as per usual when another “P” word that is not the “P” word in question plays a visit… there is something else a foot that is causing me to feel odder than usual.

You may all be curious to know that I wear, what the French call, le thong. I have for a really long time. I wasn’t super quick to jump on this fashion miracle. After all, I grew up on a small island that had little use for such things. It’s possible that my friends wore them University but as we rarely discussed the “P” word and sure as hell did not “P”rance around in our knickers, I wouldn’t really have any idea. At any rate, no one extolled the virtues of le thong to me and, up until I started working for Club Med and had to dance around in a white unitard while playing the ever-so-sexy Jenny Annie Dots in our rendition of Cats, did the notion of wearing le thong so as to remove those unsightly visible “P” word lines even enter into my mind.

Welcome to 1999 Bea.

Now, of course, I wouldn’t condescend to wear anything else. Oh sure, les thongs definitely took some getting used to but at the end of the day, they are just “P”lain more comfortable than anything else. You’ll imagine my horror of going into my unmentionable drawer this morning to discover that I was in desperate need to do laundry!

Ugh… and so I was forced to do the unthinkable.

Why I even still have a pair of granny “P” word thingies is quite beyond me. In fact, I have several. I can’t remember the last time they were worn, if ever. My brain has a theory that my Mom bought them for me once upon a time and I never got around to throwing them out. I must say I am thankful for them today though… While I have no problem going commando when the occasion calls for it… A workday in the middle of winter is definitely not that occasion.

But it wasn’t as simple as just putting them on and beginning my day. I had to be very careful that the outfit I wore was such that any VPL would not be detectable to the unaided eye. I am shamelessly critical when I see VPLs on women (“tsk, tsk, in this day and age… UNACCEPTABLE”). On men? Well, really and truly there is no excuse… it causes me to go down a road that I really don’t want to go down. For when I see a man’s tighty whities visible under his trousers, I can’t help but visualize this person in all their unde-roo glory. Sadly, the type of fellow generally still wearing these types of undergarments is exactly the kind of guy who you really have no interest in imagining in their undies… It’s the most vicious of vicious circles.

Anyway, I carefully chose the outfit and am certain no one can see. But I feel weird. I feel icky. I feel unnatural. I feel the need…

To do laundry!

Like now!