Sugar Plump Panties

Panties! A normal everyday necessity for most (not necessarily 20-something female celebrities), but a real pain for people losing weight. I mean we all have our favorite pairs. The ones that stay where they are supposed to, don't ride up, wash well, aren't too embarrassing looking, feel good on, etc. Then there is the shrink factor. This means the ones that when they are not being worn, shrink down to a little looking size, so that when you hold them up they don't look like they fit a Porsche, but look tiny and demure.

Then you start losing weight and suddenly your panties aren't there with ya. They are falling off. Never at home, mind you, usually out in public when it would be awkward to pull them up discretely. Not to mention panties aren't cheap. Well the good ones aren't. You could buy a 6-pack of the fruit of the looms at Target or something, but I doubt they would ever feel good on. The ones I like tend to cost at least $6-10 a pair. And while I'm the queen of shopping bargains, I still figure I have a good two to three hundred bucks invested in panties. What!?

And what do you do with the panties when they become too big? Not like you can give them to goodwill. Not like you can have a clothes exchange with your buddies and say "hey, does anyone want my old fat panties?" Does Al Gore realize how many fat girl panties are filling up our overcrowded city landfills each year? Surely this contribute to global warming.

I will probably be disowned for publicly sharing this next tidbit. My mother, raised during the depression and ever so crafty, takes her old underwear (usually worn out, not outgrown) and cuts them up for cleaning rags. An ironic fact since there is ample fabric in her panties and she does little or no cleaning. She has cut up pieces of cotton in her home that date back to the 70s. In fact, when my brother and his new bride were visiting a few years ago, my mother offered some of her "special cleaning rags" to my sister-in-law. I could only mildly imagine the horrified look on her face as her new mother-in-law offered her some hunks-o-granny-panties that she should pack with her on the airplane and take back to her home. What bonding that would be every time she pulled out the spray can of Lemon Pledge to think "I'm cleaning my table with cloth that used to adorn your mom's ass crack." I'm telling ya, that might be enough to keep me from eating at that table.