Parenting Without A License

In Which I Make an Ass out of Myself

Posted by Kimberly on June 17th, 2008 — Posted in Kipple

It’s been a while since I’ve replenished the old panty drawer (or pockets, as the case may be), and it’s been time for a while now. I keep putting it off though, because really, unless there’s a new man involved, who wants to spend that much time thinking about the size of your ass? But, after months of procrastination, I finally got around to buying new underwear–Nothing silky or lacy or frilly, just plain old serviceable, comfy undies. You know, the kind you wear when you just don’t want to deal with all the hassle. Which pretty much sums up my entire state of mind lately.
Usually, it takes some sort of event to inspire me to cruise the unmentionables section–either a need for “occasion” undergarment, or a desire for something pretty to wear under my clothes. Lord knows there’s not been a lot of need or desire this winter, so what finally made the underpants a priority purchase you ask? Well…..Lately I’ve noticed a fair bit of creepage with the butt coverage…Enough to move the issue from the area of occasional nuisance into a routine annoyance. And nobody enjoys that. So, I figured Father’s Day was the perfect excuse to deal with the issue and get myself some new underpants.
Replacing the panties is always a crapshoot–you never know how they’re going to fit until they’re actually touching the ladybits, at which point you’re pretty much committed. I thought I had it all in the (shopping) bag, though. It seemed like such a simple plan–Just buy the same stuff I already had, only in the next size up since I’ve been putting the problem down to a combination of worn out elastic and dryer shrinkage.  I figured it couldn’t hurt too much to swallow my pride and move up a size, just to leave a little wiggle room.

Then I discovered that they’d changed the sizing since the last time I’d been shopping and my previously simple SML formula had morphed into a complex mathematical equation. And to top it off, even if I could have accurately translated the letters into numbers, I couldn’t remember which letter was currently creeping its way up my arse, thereby making X an unsolvable proposition (especially since there was no way in HELL I was buying X!).

In the end I did when ever confronted with a particularly thorny algebra problem:  I guessed.  I was feeling pretty good about that strategy, too…Until I got home and took my new duds out of the package and saw just how much wiggleroom I’d just bought myself.  I’d tried to err on the side of caution, but looking at the swathe of fabric in my hands, I realized I’d far overshot the mark.  Still, better too big than too small, and I figured I could always intentionally shrink them in the wash rather than going through the supreme hassle of trying to return them.

So, with those optimistic, glass half full thoughts in mind, I tried on a pair of the giant panties–just to get a sense of exactly how much I would have to shrink them to have them fit my ass.  And got the shock of my life when I discovered that it wasn’t the underwear that needed to shrink.

Imagine my horror when I realized that the ginormous underpants actually. fit.  With no wiggleroom. At all.

I blame the school bus.

I know, I know.  I’ve long professed my love of that yellow enabler, and I freely embraced the lazy, sedentary lifestyle it lulled me into with its  minimal transportation effort.  I was naive not to realize that by cutting out the roughly 60 minutes a day I spent walking to and from Diva Girl’s school, I was cutting out 60 minutes of exercise and that that was bound to have an impact. Somehow, it didn’t really feel like exercise when it was a necessary chore, but it sure feels like it when I have to voluntarily get up off my ass and get moving. And not in that good virtuous way, either.

I suppose I have two choices here.  I can embrace my new, supersized behind , or I can break up with the bus. To be honest, I’m not really fond of either option.  But since I’m even less fond of self inflicted wedgies, I suppose the choice is clear….I should definitely line dry my lingerie from now on, even the 100% cotton articles.