This morning I woke up feeling rather peeved, and just a tad disconcerted.

You see I’m ‘one of those women’ who can occasionally have a dream that felt so real, or was so upsetting/annoying/scary/sexy that it effects my mood for at least part of the day.

Granted it doesn’t happen often, but I have, once or twice, been known to give my husband the cold shoulder for an entire morning after dreaming that he cheated on me.  Irrational I know, but some days that’s just how I roll… (out of bed on the wrong side. )

I didn’t dream about my husband being unfaithful last night.

No.  It was worse.

I dreamt that my mother approached me on a very delicate matter that she felt it was her maternal duty to discuss with me.

It was high time, she informed me, that I hung up my low-rise lacy black g-strings, and donned some underwear more of the beige-tango brief caliber.  Out with the take-me-to-bed-thongs and in with the butt-shaping-boy-leg undies, she said.  I was no spring chicken or lamb for that matter and it was time that I dressed my mutton-butt accordingly.

And while I was there, (there presumably being anywhere except Victoria’s Secret or the likes) I should probably get myself some matching beige bras – yes, the kind without wires, or lace, or even any shape for that matter.

I was horrified at the suggestion.

I have been through not one, but three pregnancies wearing a g-string.  (Not the same one, a clean one everyday. In fact, occasionally I’d change them twice a day…but lets not get caught up in the exciting topic of increased vaginal secretions during pregnancy just now, eh?)

Admittedly, by the end of each pregnancy my little g-strings looked tighter than a drum skin when they were on, and more than a little elastically-challenged when they were off…but, damn it…there was no way I was going to swap them for a comfy pair of passion killers…EVER!

There are two reasons I am loathe to give up the humble g-banger;

• I discovered some time during my late teens that regardless of the type of underwear I wore, they would always ride up my bum.  Hungry bum – that’s me.

•  There is only one thing worse than a VPL (visible panty line) and that is the VPL of someone with a half-hungry bum, y’know, when only one cheek has got the munchies.

So, there you have it – imaginary mother, in my imaginary dream.  That is why I will not be heeding your advice.

Are mother’s always right?  Even dream ones?  Should g-strings come with an expiry date?