Capitalism Is Not the Answer

I've been down somewhat for the past week or so.  No, no pleas for sympathy; it's hormones and stress and not anything worth mentioning.  I only mention the state of affairs because it serves as context.

Yesterday we went out, just Mom and me, mostly to do grocery shopping but also for a few other errands.  Dad couldn't come because of work.  Now, both Mom and I would love nothing more than to simply go to the used bookstore for several hours, but that wasn't in the cards.  However, we had to go to the mall (I hate the mall) and since I was in JC Penny and there were panties there, well, I thought maybe buying some underwear would cheer me up a little.

I don't like clothes shopping.  But I'm a panties-buying fiend if I let myself.  Actually, not even buying, just browsing.  I like to look through the underwear aisle.  I wound up with two pairs of panties which were on sale, and while I'm not going to model them for you, as visual aids, I present:

They call these bikini-cut; I guess I agree, although I think what I normally call bikini is now being called boy-kini, or is at least closer.  Pretty soon Madison Avenue will have all women wearing nothing but strings tied around their waists, which will be sad because I like panties with a little fabric.  I liked the white and blue better than the other option, and I can deal with the silly pattern.

And come on, I had to buy these.  The color is great, and my booty lives to be plundered.  If they'd had ones with Haz-Mat signs over the crotch, I might have bought those instead.  This is what I call a bikini, and I'm a sucker for this cut.

Yeah, there were a few others, but they weren't on as deep discount as these were.  And unlike novelty items, I'll wear both of these at some point.  I wear nearly all my panties at some point.  Sure, I have a few which are basically costume, but everything else, I do wear.  And I discard old models when they're past their prime (instead of holding onto them until they literally fall to pieces, Mike), although I have a few old pairs for various sentimental reasons that I don't wear but I keep.

I don't panties-shop in JC Penny often, understand; most of the time I won't go near department stores, but I had to be there anyway.  And before people assume, I also don't panties-shop in Victoria's Secret either, except if I'm already there and have nothing better to do.  I buy some online, but mostly I just browse wherever I happen to be.  Many of my panties have been picked up in dollar stores and Wal-Mart and so forth.  I don't care too much about name brands; I buy things I think are cute or will be comfortable (ideally both).  I used to have a stock of plain panties, but I've pretty much replaced all those with slightly more interesting but equally cheap models.  It's a miracle what you can buy these days; when I was younger, it was much harder to find stuff for cheap other than plain.  Maybe that was just my geographical region.  I know I wasn't getting taken to Victoria's Secret when I was a tween.

But the end of the story is basically that it didn't help.  I was mildly interested in looking at panties while I was doing it, but after I bought them, I felt guilty for spending the money and back to my malaise.  So the moral of the story is that panties are fun to look at.

No, no, that's not what I wanted to say, I was just entranced by panties.  The moral of the story is that buying shit doesn't solve anything.  But then I knew that already.

Pretty much the only thing that's made me happy this week is that Sephi is probably even now on her way to the airport if she hasn't already boarded the plane to take her home.  No one should have to live in Texas unless they want to.  Sorry Texans, your state doesn't make me happy.  Work on your school board and religious and racial intolerance and then we can talk about the heat and humidity.  Not to mention the whole cowboy superiority thing.

The rest of you, don't sass me or I'll give you the same.  I'm Queen Bitch until further notice.  Don't make me come over there.