I love anything that laces up and have far too many corsets for one woman. Call it a fetish if you like, I’m a sucker for anything of the sort. They arrived in the mail and I put them on, excitedly. They aren’t uncomfortable and do me all sorts of favors, but that strappy business is awfully distracting and completely annoying when you have to pee. I threw them in the slutty drawer for a rainy day.
I wish I could say I’ve been deep cleaning the whole time my little Dumpling has been gone, but frankly… I’ve been a lazy ass. I’ve played in the dirt the entire time, and the house looks like it. I haven’t done laundry, dishes, swept, mopped, the list is endless. I really have been a lazy brat the entire time, and now I have to play catch up.
I didn’t want to be social, so I hid in my garden for the bulk of my “free” time. The only guy I want to go out with, doesn’t, so what’s the point? I may as well get the weeds pulled while I mope and miss my little one. I’m sick of being unhappy and I find a lot of peace in the dirt.
So when I got up this morning, I realized after sleeping in… that I didn’t have any clean underwear except for those damn strappy panties. Nevermind the x-rated game of cat’s cradle involved to get into them. I grabbed my favorite leggings in hopes that they’d hold those stretchy elastic ass bands, in place.
The little gold charm gets cold, which reminds me I have an elastic corset laced across my ass. Reality hits me as I walk in to meet the object of my desire for an early lunch.
I have tight pants on.
Dear God… please don’t even tell me if my lacy bum-wrap is bolder than I’d planned. I don’t want to know. If he’s wondering what is criss-crossing across my backside, I prefer to remain ignorant to that knowledge. In this instance, ignorance is in fact, bliss.
I thought I was being funny when I threw on the shirt my sister just gave me. It says “EAT RAW, Love Longer” across the front. He instantly laughs under his breath.
McH- Do you need something raw, vegan and gluten free?
I survey the gluten laden plate of food in front of him and am afraid to answer his question because he’s neither of the last two and we’re both very aware of what I want and need. I excused myself and ran away to the bathroom, having a desperate need to adjust the elastic bindings that are cutting into my derriere AND also in hopes of avoiding the conversation at hand.
Pulling these panties down is like having two handfuls of rubber bands. Pulling them back up is like knitting yourself back into them. God forbid I ever had to do this in front of him. These panties are one and done, I’m tossing them in the trash after today. I got my ass realigned and my pants back on, turning to catch a glimpse on my way out the door, I see glorified elastic lattice, lacing up the back of my smooth black leggings.
Fuck. That’s just awesome. Ugh.
Mind you, I’m not short on ass. I’m not making any effort to wear a long shirt and it’s there on display for the world to see, ensconced in bad intentions and good elastic. I walked back to the table, hoping he’s none the wiser to my torturous undergarments.
Damn Victoria’s Secret. The only secret to these damn drawers is how they justified charging me $16.50 for a pile of elastic and suffering.
This is what’s wrong with love. A sane woman would never buy this bullshit. These were designed purely for us bleeding heart babes with a penchant for sexy men we can’t live without.
To hell with these addiction panties. I’m putting my smart, sensible thong back on.
… and for the record, no ass is more comfortable.
Who would have guessed?