a good day

I feel like I've been robbed of so much as a girl growing up. And, of course, I blame my mother. She is conservative in everything. I think it happened in her early forties because I sense that she was a lot of fun at one time in her life. The shift must have occurred when I was a wee ten years old. I was entering the junior's section of my life, time to wear a bra and get cute panties. Right? Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the cute panties never revealed themselves. Instead my mother continued to purchase the "Joe Boxer" brand of panty, the ones with big yellow smiley faces on the ass, winking at your frowned/creeped out refection in the mirror. They rose high up above the belly button and stretched up the rib cage. The sizes were too big and the colors muted all on the own, to ugly light lavenders and urine yellows and duck poop greens. It was unattractive to me, to the world, and especially to the opposite sex. Luckily, it wasn't until much later (this year) that I had a boyfriend refer to my underwear as "GPs." GPs? What? Me? Granny Panties? It can't be. It was true. It had even moved on into "GPPs"...my "granny period panties," for when I'm banished to the red tent. Had it really come to this? But yes, it was so. I missed that stage in early womanhood, when the girl is taken by her mother to buy tasteful but more mature, age appropriate panties. In other words, the matriarch unveils to the frail girl with the vulture-like stance (me), the holy mecca of WOMANHOOD!,...Victoria's Secret.

It may not seem like a big deal, but I went there for the FIRST time yesterday. And it was a visceral, if not, sweaty experience. I spent fifty dollars on purely underwear and have never felt better about a purchase. Yesterday I wore a bright blue thong with the word HAPPY embroidered in rhinestones on the top. W...t...f....something tells me that I'm compensating for the drabness of my earlier undergarments. I went crazy! I saw the 5 for 25 deal and I asked the woman, "Can I do 10 for 50, is that okay?!" I'm panting and my eyes are bloodshot and tears of gladness streak down my face. She said, "Yeah, I guess so. If you want to." I wanted to cry in the beauty of it all: the bright pinks and little hearts, the tiny black ones with tiny pink bows, every animal print alive, and drawers and drawers of hipsters, thongs, and bikinis. I wanted it all, but I settled on 10 winners, of all different types, colors, and levels of skankiness. I had a good day. And I know exactly where I'm going if I have bad day. There is nothing like a pair of fresh, sexified panties to make me feel like a woman again.