I remember the days when all my underwear were cute, small, and composed mostly of strings. Even my workout underwear had “style” and were generally cute little bikini briefs. Those were the old days; and even though those underwear still reside in the top drawer of my dresser, they’ve had to make room in recent years for some larger, and even expandable, panties. Yes, I do mean “Granny” panties, but more specifically my big mama-jama maternity underwear. Incredibly comfortable yet totally lacking in style, these gigantic maternity panties have so much fabric that I’m sure they could function as a parachute if I ever needed to jump off a tall structure. Guaranteed never to ride up your rear these preggo panties grow with you through pregnancy and have a waistline just below your bra strap. I have quite a collection of these magical balloon-like panties since I had three babies in four years. In fact, these mega-undies are all that remain of my maternity clothing. In an effort to speed up my weight loss after having my third and final child, I gave away all my other maternity wear. For obvious reasons these underwear were not included in this wardrobe purge. Long story short, I have more than a few pairs of these over-sized and under-stylish panties.
Have you ever had a day where you just didn’t feel like trading comfort for fashion? Well recently I had one of those days…sort of anyway. I already new the exact pair of white capri pants and black shirt I wanted to wear, and as I reached into my drawer for some underwear, I pulled out two pairs of panties- both white but one pair was three times the size of the other. In an instant I thought of two things: 1) The smaller of the two pairs would surely ride up my ass all day while I was shopping and 2) If I was to wear these maternity panties no one would be the wiser. So without a moment’s more thought, I got dressed and headed out for a few items on a quick shopping trip.
Still feeling defeated from my recent attempts at finding a bathing suit, I was determined to find all that was on my list today. I moved with deliberate determination quickly through the stores, and found myself checking off one item after another from my list. Since I was making such good time (and since my birthday is next month), I ducked into a shoe store with my multiple bags to see what was on sale. I tried on a couple pars of sandals for myself, but as usual ended up grabbing some foot wear for the kids instead…but wait, just as I was heading to the counter to checkout, my eyes fixed upon a pair of Steve Madden pumps on the bottom shelf with a “Sale” sticker on them. Do I really need another pair of pumps? I don’t even leave the house…and as much as I enjoy “retro” and “vintage” style clothing, I can never imagine cooking or cleaning in pumps as my Grandmothers had done back in the 1950’s…these and a dozen other thoughts raced through my mind as I held the three boxes of children’s shoes, the half dozen bags from my day’s shopping so far, and my stylish yet awkwardly large purse as I bent over to examine just how on “sale” these shoes were. Barely staying balanced I remained close to the floor, almost squatting, reading the sticker’s original price, sale price and tallying the percentage I’d be saving by purchasing these fantastic shoes. I was so engulfed in my math that I almost did not hear the snickering behind me. There were three young men, no more than fourteen, who were not so subtly staring in my direction. Perhaps a more confident me would have thought them checking me out, but if my recent run in with the law (see my previous posting) had taught me anything, it was that people were probably laughing at me, not with me. I heard some snickering and inaudible conversation, but managed to grab one word. “Underwear.” My attention immediately shifted to myself, and I felt the source of their laughter. In my attempts to carry too many bags, boxes, and justify a unneeded pair of shoes all while squatting, my shirt had ridden up in the back exposing my giant underpants. Generally, with my shirt so far up my back I might have noticed the feeling of “air” on my bare skin, but because my giant underwear were reaching nearly to my bra strap, I felt nothing but fabric. Shit! I manged to pull my shirt down without dropping any bags or boxes, gave them a dirty look, and walked past them (without my the Steve Maddens) to the counter, nose in the air.
So much for fabulosity again today…here’s to hoping for a bit of grace tomorrow.
*These maternity underwear, available at Motherhood Maternity, come up pretty high on a pregnant belly, and up to your collar bone on a none pregnant person.