A Letter To The Three And A Half Pairs Of Sexy Underwear I Own
Dear The Three and a Half Sexy Pairs of Underwear that I own,
Well first off, thank you. Thank you for being there when I needed you most. Most of all, thank you for not getting all weird about the fact that on any normal day, I’d pick virtually any other pair of my twenty-eight pairs of underwear over you. I would even choose that pair. You know the one I speak of. The pair that should rightfully be burned — the ashes of which should be buried in a deep, dark hole in a remote cave where no humans dare venture. But yeah. Anyway, on a typical Tuesday or Wednesday morning I would definitely pick that pair over you. No contest.
It isn’t personal. It’s practical. You know that.
Still, I know it can’t feel very good to be passed over day after day. And yet, you never seem to tire of being stuffed carelessly in the back corner of my top drawer. If you ever feel neglected, you never show it. That’s because you know your day will come. You know you are not an everyday kind of pair. You know you are special. You know you are a star.
But of course, there are three and half of you. I want to honor that fact. You are each so dear to me.
Thong. It’s no big secret. You know I hate you most. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you. Certain female friends of mine insist that you aren’t that uncomfortable and that I will get used to you. Some friends even claim to prefer thongs to underwear that isn’t designed to give someone a perma-wedgie. Alas, we both know that I won’t get used to you. That’s because I never, ever wear you. Well except for prom night five years ago. And I only wore you then because my dress clung to my butt in a weird way.
Just know this: even though you have sat in my drawer for the past five years, unused and seemingly abandoned, I respect you. Not only do I respect you, but I also appreciate you. Just knowing that you exist is enough to give me the confidence I need to purchase tight pants without pockets. Even if I never wear them.
Prom was fun though, right?
Black Lacey Pair. You little minx. You are a class act and you know it. I remember when I was in sixth grade and I watched Ten Things I Hate About You for the first time. Heath Ledger was hot in that movie, but not so hot as he was in A Knight’s Tale. He was really hot in that. Anyway, I’ll always remember the part in Ten Things I Hate About You when the little sister found her older sister’s black underwear while snooping around in her room.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” said her knowledgeable, sexy, and sassy friend.
“Ummm huh?” said the little sister like some stupid, sexless idiot.
“It means your sister is having sex!” said the sexy friend.
That was how I learned that black underwear=sex.
Days of the week underwear=not sex.
Anywho Black Lacey Pair, every time I wear you, I think of how hot Heath Ledger was in A Knight’s Tale. You have a special place in my heart. For that reason and more.
Pink Satin-y Pair. You are fun. You are flirty. You are a go-to kind of gal. You can’t talk, but if you could, I would love to just stay up all night together in matching pajamas, eat frozen yogurt, and dish about cute boys and celebrity break-ups. You are stylish. You are sassy. You would say things like “Girlfriend!!” and “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because your boyfriend thinks so.” Your favorite emoticon is the one with a semi-colon for a wink and an asterisk for a kiss ;*
You would suggest that I read Cosmo-endorsed literature like He’s Just Not That Into You. And I would say, “I don’t know…that book looks pretty stupid.”
You would get this hurt look on your face and I would quickly say something like, “Well, I bet there is some good advice in there. Definitely.” You would smile and we would watch A Knight’s Tale together. You think Heath’s hottest movie was The Patriot. I have to admit, I see where you are coming from, but we don’t watch The Patriot because The Civil War is a bummer and Mel Gibson hates the Jews.
Half-Sexy pair. Okay. So you aren’t quite like the others. You are made out of cotton. You probably couldn’t cause a yeast infection if you tried. You are cute. You communicate a crucial truth: “Hey — I’m no porn star, but I’m not a gross cat lady/grandma either.” (That’s the kind of thing you manage to say without words… you are so talented.) Most importantly, you play a vital transitional role from the three sexy pairs to the twenty-eight not-so-sexy pairs. I need you. Don’t tell the others, but you are my favorite. (Shhh!)
Gosh, guys. So many mems we share. So many, many, mems. I mean, wow, how many unsuspecting guys have we tricked into thinking I’m the kind of girl who has at least eight pairs of sexy underwear instead of just three and a half? Well I mean… not that many guys. A nice, normal number of guys. A number that isn’t so high that it indicates sluttiness, but not so low that it suggests an off-putting and/or frightening lack of experience. Whatever number you have thought up in your brain that fits those criteria — that’s it. You guessed it. That’s the number.
But that isn’t what is important right now.
What is important is that you, The Three and a Half Pairs of Sexy Underwear That I Own, get the credit and thanks that you deserve. You are the unsung heroes of my top dresser drawer. You are the crème de la crème of my undergarments. You are champions.
Never forget that. Never, ever, never ever never forget that. Ever.
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I’m a heterosexual female little person whose only sexual experience has been with normal-size men.
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