They’re typical of the type of underwear I wear every day.
I don’t see my husband every day. Most days, he has no idea what color shirt I’m wearing, let alone what color underwear. Most days no one sees my underwear but me.
So, why do I care? I’ll get to that in a sec.
Let me backtrack. On a typical day I’ll commute an hour to work, spend nine hours behind a desk thinking about very technical, very serious, very un-fun things, commute an hour back home, run around picking up my kids, come home and make a quick dinner or decide I’m hitting up a drive-through because its nearly 6:30 pm.
At home I let out the dog who’s jumping around, and feed the cat who is apparently STARVING since I last fed him that morning. I force my children to eat the half-assed dinner I’ve placed in front of them. Sometime around now I’m sick of hearing my children whine, though at the same time I know they whine because they’re tired and they’ve had a long day, too. I’ll remind myself they’re only little for so long, and I should play a game with them or give them a snack or read them a book. I will spend time trying to encourage them back into the happy-go-lucky attitudes I know they possess.
Finally, I’ll spend 30-40 minutes on “the bedtime routine”, after which I’ll load the dishwasher or fold some laundry or generally pick up the house. Soon, it’s 10:00pm and I NEED to sit down and be still for awhile.
That’s when I’ll put on some pajamas.
And when I do? I typically catch a glimpse of myself in those panties, a jolting reminder that I’m more than someone’s Mom. I’m more than the person who takes care of and feeds everybody else. I am more than my work-my-ass-off job. I am sexy and I am a woman.
And damn if I don’t look fucking amazing in lace panties, even if no one sees them. And that’s why I always wear them.
Then I can sit down and feel better about being ME.