Panties in a Bunch

I needed some new general-wear panties. Attrition and loss and possibly theft (sometimes it seems like someone must be stealing them, otherwise where the hell are they going) had depleted my stocks. I'm not talking about the exciting ones, or even ones I might actually go shopping for; I'm talking the panties I wear to work, the daily-rotation panties, the ones I buy in bulk from the big box store. Maybe not bulk, but you get the idea.

So I went to the store to pick up some, and they didn't have the brand I like. Big deal, thought I naively, I'll just buy the brand they have.

Wrong. Either I've lost weight (and I don't think that's true) or the sizes are different, because the panties I wound up with are baggy. And in bikini cut, that's not something to take lightly. But I'm poor, and no one is supposed to see these (people sometimes see them, but that's not according to plan) so I soldiered through and waited for the time when I'd find the brand I liked again.

It took me too long, but finally I found them, or so I thought. So I bought two bags, plenty enough, at a price that I find more and more ridiculous as I get poorer. Seriously, underwear cost too damn much. Topic for another time, or indeed another blog that I don't have. Anyway, I bought them and tossed them in the laundry, and a few days ago had cause to do a load and so wound up with fresh new panties.

Except these panties are no good at all. I thought they were the same things; they came in the same label, in the same number, by the same company. I should clearly have been paying closer attention. These panties aren't cotton. They're some weird synthetic blend, which means they stretch. A lot. I could probably pull the leg holes open wide enough to fit both my legs through one hole. The waistline rides up to my belly button when I work and gives me horrible wedgies, and I can't seem to get them to stop turning into thongs.

So I've been wearing the remnants of my everyday-rotation stash and some other panties which are more comfortable but more exciting, and dreading the day when I bend over without thinking and expose something exciting to my coworkers. They'd notice. I may be one of the guys, but they'd notice.

I'm going to get all old for a moment and ask why the hell the things I like have to change? Why can't they just keep the panties that I find comfortable the same? Huh? Okay, putting my walker and blue hair dye away. Now I'm faced with the annoying prospect of having to buy a number of pairs of underwear without knowing whether they'll be any good in order to find another kind which will undoubtedly disappear as soon as I find them. And you can't try on underwear, no ma'am. So that's money. Hooray. Or I can buy the more expensive kind that yes, I do like more, but which cost as much for one pair as I can get two or three in bulk. Hooray.

I'm sure you all wanted to hear about this. But it's been on my mind.

In exchange for listening to me rant about panties, here's me in panties.

Whose hand is it? Well it could be anyone's. I'll leave it up to your imagination.