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Thursday, September 24, 2015

A Game of Thongs!

So I just bought my first pair of black leggings or jeggings. I am not sure what they are called anymore. I am trying to have an option to wearing the same jeans everyday (even though I have fifty pairs in my closet).

All the Fall fashion magazines have models wearing comfy sweaters, huge scarfs tied around their necks and black leggings, usually in leather but that’s only because they don’t live in a Northern climate like me. Wearing leather leggings in our climate literally means you will freeze the ass off yourself.

Even with all that wool surrounding their bodies, they still look like they haven’t eaten in months. I can’t pull that off.

A good friend of mine told me Spandex is a privilege not a right and unless I’ve been doing a hundred squats a day, I should stick to breathable cotton.

So breathable cotton leggings it was.

Leggings are basically black pantyhose with no feet. It’s not like sliding on jeans. I have to sit down in a chair just to be able to pull them over my feet. Then I inch them up my legs, over my hips and to my waist. It’s a good 20 minute workout.

I finally got them on only to discover I have two big problems:
1. Camel toe (To save you the trouble of Googling it, Wikipedia says “Camel toe is a slang term that refers to the outline of a woman's labia majora, as seen through tightly fitting clothes. Due to a combination of anatomical factors and the tightness of the fabric covering it, the crotch and mons pubis may take on a resemblance to the forefoot of a camel. Camel toe commonly occurs as a result of wearing tight fitting clothes, such as shorts, hotpants or swimwear.”

Not sure when they updated that last but I haven’t worn “hotpants” in a long time.

2. I literally have my panties in a bunch. You can see the outline of my underwear through the leggings!

So I Googled “How do you hide your underwear when wearing leggings?” Google came back with a list of websites to help women hide VPLs (Visible Panty Lines). Yes, apparently that’s another thing we have to deal with.

The bottom line is, VPLs are best hidden by wearing thongs. That’s right ladies. Thongs.

Now, I’ve already invested $40 in a pair of leggings so I am going to have to check out the thongs.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am big fan of comfortable underwear. Not just any comfortable underwear but they also have to hide the fact that I’ve had two children (both fat babies), possible cellulite (caused by said fat babies), bought a gym membership but will never use it, loves to eat, hates sit ups and they have to make me look like a Victoria Secret Model.

But to wear these leggings I will participate in this “Game of Thongs.”

Off to Victoria Secret I go.

I take the leggings with me and show them to the teenage salesgirl. I educate her on camel toe and my panties being in a bunch and ask for her expert opinion as a Victoria Secret Salesgirl on recommending a thong for a 51 year old woman.

I know she is screaming “I make minimum wage! I shouldn’t have to deal with this crap!” in her head.

She politely takes me to the thong section of the store then picks out some of the “best sellers” for me to try on then says “Over your panties!”

So I go into the change room and put the thong on over my panties, then the leggings but that was stupid because now you can see the panties and the thong and it looks like I am wearing a diaper. I decide to give in and buy the thong so I can try it on at home. Apparently the smaller the underwear the more expensive they are because the thong was almost $10.

At home I decide to get ready for the Fall runway. I put on my new thong and the leggings. Google was right! There are no panty lines. I am happy that I can wear my leggings without the dreaded VPLs plaguing women kind.

Then I walk the dog.

Word of advice. Don’t walk the dog while wearing a thong!

Ten minutes into our walk I start to feel like I am flossing myself in half. Twenty minutes into the walk I feel like I have performed surgery on myself. By the time I got home it felt like I had given birth to a hippo.

It took another twenty minutes to find the thong and get it off. I may need stitches.

Who created the thong anyway? I could only imagine some French guy with weird bondage issues.

I went back to my comfortable underwear, spend another twenty minutes pulling the leggings back on and stared at the camel toe.

Then I had what Oprah would call a “A-ha moment.” I discovered the cure for VPLs…. Long sweaters. That’s how you get rid of VPLs, long sweaters!

I win the game of thongs!

Crack dealers in the hood!

So my doorbell rings one morning and my dog loses her mind as usual. I am not expecting anyone so I look out through the glass door to see a big, husky man standing there with a stack of paper in his hand.

Avoiding my inner voice that’s screaming “Don’t open the door! You’re home alone! You’re in a housecoat! You could be murdered!” I open the door to a complete stranger while standing there in my housecoat because that’s what polite women do. We would rather people say “Too bad she opened the door to a stranger and was murdered” than “She wouldn’t open the door and was SO rude!” We wouldn’t want to offend anyone. Especially by passing judgement on a big, husky man who could easily overpower us.

Turns out this big, husky man, who I could now see was dressed in painting clothes, was a crack dealer and wanted to know if I was interested in buying some crack from him. I politely told him no, that I already had a crack dealer I had been using for years. He then asked me to take a flyer just in case I became unhappy with my crack dealer and wanted a new one or had a friend who was looking for a good crack dealer. I told him sure and I politely took his crack flyer and closed the door, but waited until he got to the end of the driveway before I locked it because I didn’t want him to think I thought he was a murderer too.

Well actually, he wasn’t selling crack. He was selling home repairs.

When I opened the door my dog, who was losing her mind because a stranger was at the door and who obviously had better safety instincts than me, and didn’t care about being rude, ran out the door and circled the guy’s feet while barking loud enough to alert the neighbours that a killer was in the neighbourhood. The man, in a feeble attempt to prove that he was not a murderer bent down to rub my dog.

That’s when his true intent was exposed! The crack!

His paint covered jeans pulled all the way down to the bottom or his hairy crack and his too short T-shirt rose all the way up his waist. All I could do was stand there in my house coat, frozen, unable to look away and feeling my morning coffee rising in my throat until I realized I had just thrown up in my mouth!

Being a lady, who is never impolite, I politely swallowed the thrown up coffee and continued to have a conversation with this man about dealing crack, or home renovations, in my neighbourhood.

He started fast talking me on his expertise with drywall, plastering and painting but all I could think about was that crack! I knew that I could not spend weeks, days or even an hour knowing that every time he bent down to pick up a tool I would be exposed to crack.

Then I had to think of my poor dog. He does like to lick everything. I could never let him kiss me again! I mean sure, I don’t mind him smelling another dogs butt at the park but crack is wack! He may never go back!

I took the flyer and put it into the recycling can and figured that was the last of this crack dealer. That was until the next day when I was getting in my truck. The dog started losing her mind again. I had to chase her to the end of the driveway and grab her by the collar to settle her down. That’s when I noticed it… the crack was back! There it was across the street laying fence palings on my neighbour’s lawn. She had hired the crack dealer to fix her fence!

It was like driving past a car accident. I had to slow down and look. The crack was smiling back at me.

The crack was back and smack in my tracks!

I had hoped by the time I came home that day her fence would be fixed and the hood would be back to normal.

Turns out she was running a crack house across the street. After the fence, he painted her garage door, then there was work on the inside. Apparently my neighbour has a crack problem.

Every time I left my house or came home, I had a crack attack.

She must have eventually been forced in to rehab by her husband because the crack dealer was gone after a week.

I was leaving my house this morning when I heard her call out to me. She was leaving for work and was waving hello. I couldn’t help but ask “Got all your renovations finished?”

“Yes” she answered, “I hired a local handyman. He took a long time to get the job done and his work was kind of sloppy. I wouldn’t recommend him.”

“Good to know” I smiled back at her.

Turns out in the end, our crack dealer wasn’t all he was cracked up to be!