All Wrong Thong

I try to be careful, since I’m as old as Medusa, that I celebrate my years of wisdom and try to embrace the Goodyear rubber tire I have going on midcenter, midlife.  I don’t want to be 18 again…ever…and try to ignore the road map of spider veins on my legs, laugh lines [cough-crow's feet-cough] and the gray hairs sprouting from my roots like an out-of-control July 4th rocket.

And although I often get compliments on my choice of wardrobe at the office, I always chalk it up to having a daughter who keeps me fairly modern and tasteful without going over the edge. I have complete trust in her that she’ll tell me when I’m starting to look like Lindsay Lohen’s mother or, worse yet, that I’m starting to look like Lindsay Lohen.

But I had a rather eye opening experience last week that brought me back to the reality that I am indeed getting on in years, and to acquiesce, cry uncle and remember my age…maybe just a little.

I sometimes pull my daughter’s thong out of the drier and just shrug as I attempt to fold the 1/345th yard of fabric, thinking to myself, “Why does she bother?”  But curiosity got the better of me one day as I said to my daughter, “What’s it like having dental floss creeping up your butt?”  She just rolled her eyes, saying regular underwear gives her bigger wedgies than the thong does.  And I had to admit – as I looked at the summer white slacks she was donning that were so tight if she farted, she’d blow her shoes off – that this type of undergarment probably has it’s place in the world of fashion.

I’ve always believed the only way to truly learn something is to experience it. And I’ve had a pair of skin-hugging taupe slacks that I rarely wear because they hug my crinkle-cut French thighs and ass, and I thought to myself, “Time to experience this.”  I would have borrowed a thong from my daughter’s drawer, but I was too lazy to search for my bifocals to find those little balls of yarn.

So off I went to the store, my braveness intact, sunglasses hiding my identity, to buy a pair for myself.  After spending an hour looking for a thong in mom-large, one lonely pair jumped out at me with that “Please adopt me” look that at least had some semblance of triangulation that might just do.

But something didn’t quite feel right as I pulled out my Senior-Citizen-Ten-Percent-Off-On-Tuesdays card to purchase my jock-strap sized thong. I tried to avoid the glassy-eyed glaze of the 25-year hot cutie that was waiting on me with that “What’s Wrong with This Picture?” look in his eye….

Maybe I’ll stick to my black slacks…they go with everything.