Thong Song

Thong Song
A long time ago when I was very thin, stop laughing I was thin. I was so thin people used to tease me about being thin and I would actually be offended. Can you imagine being offended because someone called you Skinny-Minnie or Toothpick Tillie? Honestly I have tried to pay people to call me skinny for old time’s sake and they just laugh and walk away. Again, I digress.

I was thin, we’ve established that and thin people can wear clothing that fluffier people like me now can not or better said should not. I was in need of some new undergarments. I was still young in doggy years so I went to the local Victoria Secret Store and began my quest for new unmentionables. There was all the normal styles high rise, boy cut, bikini cut, string bikini and a new style called a thong. Now growing up a thong was something you wore on your foot and it made a thong, thong, thong noise when you walked. You bought them at the 5 and Dime two pair for a dollar and invariably when you least expected it you would have a blow out in them. The middle strap between your toes would come out of its place, the little button holding it together would either wear off or pop out and there was no way to keep the shoe on past that point. My mother would save the good one in hopes that the next one to blow-out would be the opposite foot and you would again have a complete set. It never worked out that way.

Now they call them flip-flops.

I was intrigued by this thong and the sales girl heralded their virtues. She explained that they were all the rage in the big cities and with the hip younger women. Just think, she gushed, no panty lines under your slacks. Look she continued pointing to her own bum and saying “I have one on and you can’t tell can you?” I looked and then she said “No really feel my butt there is nothing between me and the slacks” I thanked her but no thanked her and told her I would take her word for it. I thought what the heck I’ll try a pair. (Why do they call it a pair of panties when technically it is only one piece of clothing?) I made my purchase feeling very continental and fashion hip.

The following Monday I got up early, three o’clock in the morning, for my usual 60 mile commute to work. I got dressed wearing of course my new purchase, the thong. It was a bit uncomfortable and really didn’t give very much coverage in the necessary places but I thought it was something to which I would adjust. The most obvious difference in the thong and regular panties was that this one was supposed to go between your butt cheeks where regular panties usually just worked their way there. I spent the next hour and a half in my car fidgeting this way and that way trying to get used to the new garment. I arrived at work in some discomfort but continued through out my morning walking around as if I had a self-inflicted wedgies.

About halfway through the day I was in misery. What type of torture device was that Victoria selling I wondered? Why would a woman with such a prim and proper name want to torture her fellow gender so? Who, other than me, would subject themselves to the constant state of discomfort? Not wanting my fellow female co-workers to suffer the agony that was the thong panty I started a campaign. I told them “Do not let that evil Victoria impel her secrets upon your bum.” They looked at me quizzically and wanted more information. I told them about this new torture device and explained how it was worn. They all commiserated with me.

When the day was over I drove the 90 minutes home again in agony. It seemed when I sat it was worse than when I walked. I could not for the life of me figure out why or how anyone would wear these evil devices of torture. I mean I am a woman and I am not above wearing painfully high-heels to lift my bum in the air in an attempt at beauty. I will and have worn torturous garments that stuffed and lifted and tucked and pulled all in the name of fashion. This was just a little too much, panty lines or not, I could not understand these little strings of harrowing elastic and satin. It was just too uncomfortable even for the fashion diva I thought I was.

I literally raced to the door and to my bedroom where I ripped my clothing off in order to get rid of the menacing piece of material that had been my bane all day. As I removed the offending item of clothing I realized something. I went to my dresser and took out the sister thong to the one I was wearing and started to really examine it. I noted the tag was not where I thought it should be. Then the light bulb went on over my head and I realized what was wrong. Yes, you guessed it. I had been wearing them not backwards but sideways all day. Yes, I said Sideways! Is there any other piece of clothing that you can wear sideways? I don’t think so. No, hats don’t count.