Don't Get My Knickers in a Knot

When I said in the last post that the Granny Panties my Mom bought me for a Christmas present were evil, I did not mean to imply in any way that my Mother is evil. They have done the x-rays, and there is officially not one evil bone in her body. Nor did I mean that there is anything wrong with getting underwear for Christmas, besides the obvious fact that it's not a pony or a yacht or a diamond tiara or anything.

No, the evilness of these particular panties, these panties with a capital P, was in the enormity of the coverage provided. The sheer acreage of wildflower sprigged cotton. The audacity of making the flower print so tiny. They obviously thought someone would be fooled into thinking that the back-end wedged into them was just as dainty. This is not a nosegay of wildflowers, no sir. This is an infinite meadow. Thousands of cotton balls lost their lives for this sucker.

And they fit.