My Addiction

I have addiction on the brain. Usually, it's not something that the cops need to know about, but they more often than not they end up costing you a lot of bucks. Sometimes, when you tell other people about yours, they kind of wrinkle their noses and silently judge you. And you might not always feel comfortable letting other people know you're even addicted to it in the first place.

As always, I have been turning the microscope on myself. What will be my downfall? What fatal flaw does my character have in this play?

The answer? Panties. Feel uncomfortable yet? You will.

I was cruising around the mall yesterday. I saw a man and a woman, hand in hand, smiling at each other. They were walking, and the woman caught sight of something and started veering towards it. The man was unawares, as he was scratching a bug bite and looking at his forearm. All of a sudden, he looked up in the direction they're heading and yanked back on his lady friend's arm. "Oh no. No. Uh-uh. No way." he said. He began backpedaling, like an animal does when you try to drag it through the door to the vet's office. She was laughing (thank goodness) and chasing after him. I wondered what store can create such a rift between two lovers...and I saw that it was Victoria's Secret, in the midst of a semi-annual sale.

I tried to steer clear of it. The bright colors, lace, and multitude of cranky women was almost enough to discourage me. Almost. Instead, a calm came over me (Panty Auto-Pilot?) and I wandered straight over to the bins marked M.

"I don't have to buy anything. I can just look," I thought haughtily to myself. Then, that familiar feeling washed over me. The intense desire to acquire just "one more pair of tangas," and "something else in that adorable color pink" was too much for me. I began to load up a bag that magically appeared on my arm from some comrade nearby.

It's almost like I blacked out. I can't really remember sifting through the bins, but somehow, when I came to, I had a partially filled sack with underpants. There were blue ones with polka dots, a pair of short shorts, a tank top, and a pair of periwinkle brazilian tangas edged in navy blue.

"Where did this all come from?" I wondered aloud. The lady next to me looked up with a hint of sadness in her eyes as she added a pair of yellow striped bikini bottoms to her pile. She shook her head with a manic jolt as if to say, "Just pull out your credit card and get the fuck out while you still can. Save yourself, sister!"

I remembered the last time this happened. On that trip, I had compromised what I had thought was a cardinal rule: No panties with the little peek-a-boo hole in the back. Are y'all familiar with this model? About 6 months ago, panties started popping up in our consciousness that have little, quarter-sized holes right at the top of the butt crack. They are fastened together with laces or cute buttons or ribbons. I was initially mortified, thinking that only tiny thin girls with perfect asses were allowed to wear these in catalogs, and never in real life.

Then, on that one fateful day, I saw some pairs that were on sale, cute, and with tasteful-sized cutouts that didn't scream "I like Anal, come over and bring some Courvoisier with you." I thought they would be a nice change from the norm, so I adopted them and took them home. Dagnabbit, I was right. They're presh. They earned a spot in the regular rotation.

It was that group of newbies that made me realize my underwear drawer was getting maxed out. Armed with the fierce determination to slash and burn the collection of unmentionables that I am now mentioning, I moved out the old cotton pairs that were too big and faded from many faithful years in combat. I couldn't help but think of that feminine secret that special undies are for when company will be seeing them, and cotton is for everyday comfortability. What a stupid rule! Hot underwear can be super comfortable, too. Maybe even more so, in fact. So, I stopped buying the 100% cotton ones, figuring that the ones I already own will do just fine. Not every day can be a rhinestone-studded thong day, after all.

Ever since, I have been buying specialty pairs. I feel as though this makes a statement such as, if asked, I will be happy to take my pants off! And I will do it WITH PRIDE! Yes, ye non-believers! I know that I am always daring, adventurous, and choosing to sheath my swimsuit area in a fine selection of lycra and other stretchy fabrics! Take THAT, establishment! This girl has gone WILD! If she gets in a car accident (knock on wood), the medics will be wowed by her choice of sassy string bikinis or lacy bootie shorts!

As a result of this new "stick it to ya" attitude, my backpack will be slightly heavier upon my return to LA. If anyone in security chooses to examine my bags closer, I might get a Hot Date out of it.

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