Recently, one of the broads on my Facebook friends list publicly derided granny panties, opining that they look like ugly, oversized toddler chonies and that wearing them pretty much means you’ve, “given up.”
Yes. Of course. Because I am just the sort of dame you’d describe as being dispassionate and dowdy.
You see, I ALWAYS wear white, 100% cotton granny panties and have done so for pretty much my entire adult life. Call me prudish and Victorian (I DOUBLE-DOG DARE YOU), but for me, underwear are strictly utilitarian garments, meant to provide proper hygiene and absolute comfort under my clothing — and that is precisely what mine do. I personally got WAY BETTER THINGS to think about/create/dream/fight for/support/be concerned with/be distracted by than whether or not my unmentionables are flossing my crack, paralyzing my thigh, humidifying my muff, or turning some poor bastard on or off. They provide me with consistent bodily comfort and a well-aerated undercarriage — because, as you all well know, if Mama’s Bagine ain’t happy, ain’t NOBODY happy. In other words, they work. Swimmingly.
Styles may come and go, gunts, titties, poundage, and fortunes may rise and fall, but through it all I shall continue to proudly strut about town wearing my grannies. I consider their effortlessness and carefree wearin’ as a boost to my ability to focus, write, and RULE. And though it might seem silly to some, I also consider my very fervent choice to be unfettered — as opposed to being FETTERED LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER — as not only a personal fashion choice, but perhaps even a feminist fashion choice, as well.
So, in the profound spirit of The Sisterhood, my message to she who thinks girls in grannies have given up:
FUCK OFF, LADY.
The gal in the picture is wearing ’em on her boobs. When they reach your boobs–or, you boobs reach them–THEN you might say “granny.” THANK YOU for this liberating post! You are not alone. My undergarments are comparable, trusty, plain, and will serve me well in unforetold fortunes. Chafing is for bimbos! (And maybe single gals who still have something riding on a visible pantyline.) (God forbid I should have shown though while working at Conde Nast. I ditched my g-strings when I cast off the corporate shackles.)
P.S. Can you write a post about flat shoes? I also desire liberation from the Hell of heels, for one and for all.
I. LOVE. YOU.
That is all.
Right on! Buy ’em by the BOX!
Love this post! Reminds me of Roland the aristocrat who can only manage his manship if his date is wearing white cotton panties. He drives a Bentley in Paris – perhaps he’d give you a ride around town, Muffy?
HA! sounds divine, miss anne — might you be able to maneuver me an introduction? eccentric aristocrat? bentley? paris? white cotton granny panties? i am SO there, sister! xoxo
Almost wet my pants.