Always behind in the generous grouping of…..things…everything, anything… at 24 years-old, I’m finally looking to grow up. I’ve found that more often than not people really like to help humans who are looking to grow up. For example, the liquor store men supplied me with free limes because they were happy I was bringing a case of Corona to a non-BYOB event (the fact I can still relevantly use that acronym proves my previous point; I’m behind) but thought it appalling I was willing to skip the limes. Therefore, help ensued.
I can’t promise that foreword wasn’t written solely to brag about free limes (it’s where my life’s at, yo) because it sure wasn’t the best leeway into briefing (wait for the pun) you about a time when people aren’t too apt to help others into adulthood; underwear (there it is). Thank God I have friends close enough for stall-sharing and thank God you guys have me to enlighten you.
As it turns out, if we want to grow up, we also need grown up underwear.
Please, I thought underwear transitions ended after Elmo and his friends stopped covering for our crap, too. Let’s forget ‘Underwear Transition #2: age 13’; my heart flipped eight pancakes when I slipped those line-free, crack loving undies into my mother’s Target cart. I feel like there is an uncanny similarity to a drug here but I can’t be sure. I’ve never done crack.
Anyway, apparently people have moved on from the reverse mullet of the underwear world—or regular mullet…depending on your placement of the ‘party’—to debatably more professional, half-butt covering cheekies and never informed me. Look. I’m not happy that I’m succumbing to my envy of others’ clothing, situated in a place no one will soon see, but, then again, it’s not like I was happy when a high school crush played chess (of all things). But for the sake of romantic progress, I learned to play anyway…and look at me now–7 years later and I’m still reveling in that slight smirk an awfully frustrating game earned me. Totally worth it. The benefits are clear.
So! In the name of progress…
Cheekies. The underwear that I will only define by the oxymoron, ‘comfortable wedgie.’ One must splurge on the right material to ensure these wedgie wizards don’t lose their cool and…find their panties in a bunch (wink face emojii, yeah?). A single splurge later leaves us at—very expensive for two pairs of underwear. These new butt huggers think they’re a fecking iPhone and mine, interestingly enough, displays a giant crack so maybe it’s our butts that are the iPhone and our underwear gets to play the the trendy case role. Whatever they are, I’ll be buying some comfortable wedgies for my trip
into adulthood down river.
And now, I bid you adieu as this blog veers towards soft-core porn website while displaying a foray of purchasable options for ‘Underwear Transition #3: age 24’…