This morning while looking up info on the butt-dickie (mentioned here) to make sure I was understanding it correctly, I visited the site, Miss Oops. Now, don’t get me wrong. I am all in favor of a line of products aimed at preventing wardrobe malfunctions, seeing as how I am a natural wardrobe malfunction-magnet. For instance, I’ve been stapling my shirts closed for years. Staples are better than safety pins because they’re smaller and it’s easier to target exactly where you want them to go, though of course there is the issue of having people see you sticking a stapler down your shirt. But this is not about me and my boobs, for which I am sure I apologize, because it’s about something else. What else? Fake underwear, that’s what else.
Ladies, I’m sure you all know that visible panty lines are undesirable though almost an inevitability when wearing clothing items made out of certain fabrics. They could be avoided, however, by wearing a thong or going commando. Despite the fact that people have spent years trying to convince me that wearing a thong is like not wearing any underwear at all, I maintain that the only thing that feels like not wearing any underwear at all is, in fact, not wearing any underwear at all. When it comes to the thong, to put it succinctly, I am not a fan of string-up-the-butt underwear and that is all, good day. If I’m going to wear underwear, and I do wear underwear — all the time! I’m wearing underwear right now! — then, call me crazy, but I would like to feel like I am actually wearing underwear. Thongs do not feel like underwear, they feel like ass-floss. I will not be convinced otherwise.
Which means that if I want to avoid visible panty lines (I’m sorry I keep using the word “panty” because that word — also its plural variant — is ick, ick, ick… I will avoid it in the future by referring to visible panty lines as VPL) then I have to go without. The problem with going commando though is that it’s potentially dangerous. I mean, who wants to pull a Britney? Nobody. So the key to successfully employing the underwear-less option is to wear a long dress or pants. Or just not get out of cars. Or something. Confession: I have gone commando a few times, and you know that feeling you get when you’re wearing pretty underwear underneath your clothes and you spend all day feeling like you have a delightful secret? Going commando is that feeling times 1,000. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
Anyway, my point is that when I visited the Miss Oops site, I found a product: Nundies. These are adhesive pieces of fabric to be worn inside a pair of pants to avoid wearing underwear. There is another one on the market that I’m aware of — there may be more — called The Anti-Panti. These are meant to solve the VPL issue by making underwear unnecessary. You stick them in your pants, you have a barrier between lady parts and fabric, and there you go! No worries about looking like a whore because your underwear peek above the waistband of your pants! Whee!
So these are essentially adhesive fake underwear. Just the crotch!
It is perfectly obvious that this solves no problems in the dress/skirt arena of fashion, which is my favorite arena of fashion. I love skirts. Of course, I don’t really have a problem with VPL anyway, because I don’t tend to wear things that are clingy in the butt region.
And here is my main problem with this product. It involves me telling a story. It’s kind of embarrassing.
So, okay. One day while I was at work, I stuck a pantiliner in my underwear, as sometimes these things are necessary. Or I thought I stuck it in there. I don’t know. I maybe wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, a little while later, unbeknownst to me, the pantiliner escaped from my underwear. It worked its way down my leg until it got stuck on my knee. It was then that I noticed that something was amiss. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, wondering what was stuck to my knee. Upon investigating the problem, I discovered the runaway pantiliner. I removed it from my knee and threw it away. And then I thanked my knee for catching it, because what if it hadn’t gotten stuck to my knee? What if it had managed to make it all the way out of my pants? (I am not the only person this has ever happened to, am I? I am so embarrassed right now, even though this happened a really long time ago.)
I can’t imagine that there is ever a good time for that sort of thing to happen. To be walking somewhere or standing somewhere talking to people when suddenly — oops! The horror, the horror, etc. And this is why I believe that if I were ever to use adhesive fake underwear, there would be a problem. CAN YOU IMAGINE? I think it’s pretty bad to have things fall out of one’s pants in a pretty evenly general sense, but having this conversation:
A: What was that?
B: That what?
A: That THING that just FELL OUT OF YOUR PANTS.
B: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
A: THAT! THAT THING!!!!!!
B: Oh. Oh God. No.
A: WHAT IS IT?!?!?
B: That adhesive fake underwear I was wearing in lieu of going commando.
A: I don’t think we can be friends anymore.
B: I’ll just be going now. Please don’t tell anyone.
A: Are you kidding? I’m telling everyone.
Well, let’s just say that would probably be the most unfavorable of all.
This leaves us with a few options:
1. Not wearing pants.
2. Wearing pants, but not wearing pants that promote the fashion faux pas, the VPL.
3. Wearing pants, and furthermore, wearing pants that promote the fashion faux pas the VPL, and going commando.
4. Wearing pants, and furthermore, wearing pants that promote the fashion faux pas the VPL, attempting to rectify the problem by wearing adhesive fake underwear (just the crotch!) eventual death by humiliation, becoming an urban legend.
For a product that exists to prevent wardrobe malfunction, its potential for even worse wardrobe malfunction is staggering. I therefore urge you, for the good of the order, to take care in your pants choices. Your life could depend on it.