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?