You can pretty much count on the fact that anything you read here will be fairly tame. What I'm about to share is pretty tame by most standards, but it does call for a bit of a warning.
If you do not care to know anything about my underwear choices, this is your chance to bail now. There will be talk of panties! Thong panties even! Dad, this means you, lest you be forever scarred. Consider yourself warned.
Thanks to my fashion savior, otherwise known as Kathy Friend, I discovered Hanky Panky thongs. I swore up and down that I despised thongs, she swore up and down these were different. Mike was there, listening to both sides of the argument, and promptly sided with Kathy. Next thing I know I have a pair of Hanky Pankys in my underwear drawer along with a husband who is suddenly interested in my choice of undergarment every morning.
And what do you know? That Kathy was right! They are different, they actually are comfortable. All of a sudden I own 4 pairs and I have an extra spring in my step because, by God, I may look like your average mom on the outside. But under my pants? The very opposite of granny panties.
As you can imagine, no one is happier about this addition to my underwear repertoire than Mike. He has a sixth sense about when I'm either taking off or putting on clothes, and will appear out of thin air at just the right moment for the show. The other day, I'm getting ready to change into my pj's, and Mike is right there. I've got my hot pink ones on this particular day. Now, it's not unusual for my beloved husband to show his appreciation for the show by squeezing the lead players, if you catch my drift. So I didn't think anything of it when I felt a light touch on my behind.
Only the hands were cold. And small. And they seemed to be trying to pull at the back of my thong. As in pull it out of my crack.
Those hands would belong to Elena, who was very perplexed by these strange panties.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm trying to make them bigger. So they'll work better."
Some of my earliest memories began to form solidly around the age of six. I have a bad, bad feeling that one of Elena's most lucid memories will be of the day she learned about the evils of Visible Panty Line and why you should never, ever mess with your momma's butt crack.