Panty Problems

White lace, black thong. Stripes, flowers, polka dots. Soft ones, scratchy ones. Thick ones and diaphanous ones. We have ones on sale ($1 a pair at Gabe’s) and ones full price ($24 a pair at Macy’s). We have ones that fit and ones that don’t. We even have them marked by event; church, work, special evenings, running, tennis. Not all women have all these panties, but what ALL women have had are Panty Problems.

Yesterday started out like any other Friday. I picked my white bikini hipsters with wide lace trim from Gap. I love ‘em as they exemplify soft, sexy and comfortable. Never had a problem with them so, without hesitation, they were the day’s choice. Now, my normal work day doesn’t involve much exercise. I walk upstairs. I work. I walk downstairs to the kitchen to get coffee. I walk upstairs. You get the idea. All was dandy in panty land, however that was about to change.

Last evening I head off to my part-time job, with a little stop at Talbot’s and Ann Taylor beforehand. That’s when it hit. Panty Problems with a Capital P!

Walking from Talbot’s to Ann Taylor I feel the first little bit of movement – the lace on the right side is sliding downwards. I surreptitiously tug and all is well. By the time I arrive at my job at Williams Sonoma, a mere 10 minutes later, all the elastic ever sewn in those lace bikini hipsters simultaneously gives way. There is no way - absolutely none - those panties are going to stay in place for FOUR MORE HOURS. Do I remove them? Do I wear them? Do I tug all night while hiding in the cookbook section or while standing back in bakeware? Sigh.

I did what any woman would do. I tugged. I pulled. I walked ever so slowly so as not to have the panties fall even faster. I extolled the virtues of the new All-Clad D5 cookware with my back to the wall so customers couldn’t see what was happening. I gave out recipe website ideas (I like Williams-Sonoma's recipes) for slow cookers with my hands on my back hips trying to hold the depleted panties in place. It was exhausting I tell ya. Finally, the store closes and we clean up and lock the doors. That’s when I gave up. I walked to my car without caring who saw what. By the time I unlocked the car door, the only thing holding up those hipsters were my slacks.

Thank god a panty problem doesn’t happen often. You’re wondering if it has happened to me before, aren’t you? Yep, at my son’s 2008 college graduation. I ran several blocks down Massachusetts Avenue in the pouring rain, holding my shoes in one hand and holding up my panties with the other. A dress just doesn’t cut it when you’re having panty problems.