I’m multi-tasking today – laundry, planning dinner, blog post, playing Carleton the Doorman for two cats and company business. I consider this a full day bordering on unreasonably expectation-y because my personal preference for any given day includes Solitaire time and a 2-hour nap at 3:00pm which this day doesn’t include.
While I was folding the first load of clothes out of the dryer I came across a pair of panties I’ve never actually worn for more than 14.8 minutes. They are made of 100% nylon – at least that’s what it says on the panties – but I happen to have excellent proof that they also contain some space-age, super slippery properties they don’t want us to know about. That’s right Hanes, I’m on to you!
I bought them because they are really quite lovely for Granny Panties; so lovely, in fact, that I bought 2 packs of them. Yes. I wear Granny Panties. Especially Golden Girls Granny Panties. Because they are fucking comfortable and if they are good enough for Dorothy, they are good enough for me.
Anyway, I washed them and folded them lovingly. The following morning, I picked out the prettiest one and put it on. I even paused to admired it in the mirror before I put on my pants. Everything seemed fine at first. It was completely fine……until I sat down.
Suddenly my pants went one way and my panties went another! My pants were aligned with my right hip while the panties remained in place. What kind of fuckery is this?! The panties are so slippery that when I sat down, the increased friction of cloth against an immovable force (the chair) caused a fracturing of contact between the Demon Panties and the cotton of my pants. I’m lucky the chair had arm-rests, or I would have been propelled to the floor! The ensuing lawsuit would be as weird as the guy who sued Starbuck’s because he got his penis pinched between the toilet seat and the porcelain of the toilet itself*.
I went directly back to the bedroom to change my panties because there was no way in hell I could slip slide through my day. I didn’t even have to pull my pants down manually – I just wiggled a bit and they fell to my ankles.
And now I’m wondering what Hanes was thinking? Surely, they have quality control. Didn’t anyone put a pair on? Or maybe someone did try them, slipped off their chair, hit their head on the corner of a sewing machine and died. Also, what am I supposed to do with these Demon Panties? I could donate them to a Thrift Store, but that’s just passing on the danger, right? What if a young, single mom takes them then falls off the Bus Stop bench and breaks a leg? That’s the last thing she needs!
As a responsible member of society, I’ve taken a stand. I have balled-up all my Demon Panties in a bag, labelled it (in case someone is cleaning out my closets after I’m dead and thinks to donate such new panties) and shoved them to the back of my Personals Drawer where they will never be a danger to anyone else. I simply don’t want to be responsible for future humiliations and broken bones.
Because that’s just the kind of woman I am. You’re welcome.
PS: Maybe I should burn them. You never know who is going through your shit after you’re dead. Maybe they’ll sell them instead of heeding the large warning on the bag. I’ll need a big barrel, some dynamite and a flare gun.
Please dispose of those as promptly as possible, they sound like a menace to life and limb.
They certainly are! I have enough hazards in my life already. Just ask my cats. :o) Thanks for stopping by Yvonne.
I would not, repeat, NOT keep those buggers around. Can you just see your children going through your stuff and coming across these? Next thing you know you’ll be part of some “Unbelievable but true story” on Lifetime or somesuch. Too bad. I mean, come on, Dorothy on your knickers?
As for the story… dammit. A CANADIAN ??? Sigh.
Haha! I was a bit ashamed that he was Canadian but I suppose there is always one in every country. :o) I’ll have to put The Viking onto hunting down a big metal barrel and the dynamite. :o)
I think, just possibly, you have panties made of a secret material — labelled, ‘SOOPER SEEKRIT,’ like things were back when cartoons were painted on individual gels and photographed (I very nearly wrote ‘photocrapped,’ which nobody needs to know anyhow!) — that must be made of quarks, or other as-yet-unnamed particles.
You suggest using a ‘big barrel, some dynamite and a flare gun.’ I maintain my theory above, leading me to consider that doing that to them may well open a black hole — no, not _that_ kind! — to the very center of this planet. Doing that would not make this good real estate property, so maybe it would be better to hang back a bit and consider adding them to the nearest landfill and hope for a granny-panties-sized black hole.
You are a fucking genius, Gale!! A black hole at the landfill! Not only would I rid the world of Teflon Panties, but I would be reducing garbage, too! :o)
Wait. You know how to CLOSE a black hole, right?
Use them for dusting. I used to use the boxer shorts my son had outgrown until he saw me doing it one day and was mortified:-)
Hmmm…..I never thought of that. I’ll give it a try.
Um, will I have to do one of those Life Hacks videos? I have man-hands so I’ll have to hire a Lady Hands person to do the dusting demonstrations. How much do they charge to pretend to dust? Geez! Now I have to research.
This sounds like a lot of effort – more effort than I really wanted to put into it. Now, not only are the panties Demons, but they’re high-maintenance Demon Panties. I rue the day I bought those beautiful fucking panties. Honestly, Hanes should be listing the hazards of buying their product right on the packaging.
:o(
Man hands…. Right!
Just admit it, you want a woman-handed model, just because you don’t like dusting!! 😛
LOL! Am I that transparent? Don’t tell The Viking – I don’t want him to be confronted with my devious nature yet.
To close a black hole you simply reverse the process of opening one…and when doing so with demon panties you need 12 times as many to close as to open. Are you quite sure you want to start this nonsense? I’d bury them with coffee grounds and eggshells in a local park…that way marauding raccoons will dig them up and dispose of them for you.
You know, Suze, I was pretty iffy about the whole Black Hole thing. The Viking would probably lump Black Holes in the same category as Flame Throwers, Chain Saws, Raccoons and manual corkscrews – I can’t be trusted with them. I do have a shitty neighbour on the next block though, and he has a lot of humps of garden-y things. Burying my Demon Panties in his garden would amuse me, if nothing else. Also…..there are no raccoons where I live. I know, shocking.
So glad you stopped by. It’s not often I find someone willing to take things so far into the weeds. :o)
A couple of years ago our French transfer bus burnt down on the way to our ski chalet. This left many people (myself included) without any of the paraphernalia needed for a ski trip. The next day we embarked on a massive shopping trip. We asked the chalet manager about sizing as the European sizing system was different to the UK. She assured us everything was the same. When we got to the underwear section we found the bras were in centimetres, to which no one had a clue to what size they were. That night, we met up for pre-dinner drinks and we were all fidgeting uncomfortably. “My knickers are a bit snug”I remarked. Seems that everyone had the same problem. French knickers are obviously true to size and don’t have the vanity factor built in that the UK does!
LOL! If anyone ever asks me for the secret to a happy life, I will automatically say “Panties/Knickers/Gaunch/Underpants”. I hope you got some compensation for all your burnt belongings. :o) Thanks for stopping by Jane.