Bad Underwear

I'm wearing my last pair of Bad Underwear.

I don't expect boys to understand anything about this subject, but I know that the girls do. Every girl (I'm operating under the presumption that she actually wears underwear) owns three kinds of underwear:

1) "Too-bad-no-one-can-see-these-because they're-so-hot- and-so-am-I" Underwear
2) Normal Underwear
3) Bad Underwear.

The bad kind is the stuff you get in a 6-pack, in a plastic bag, from your aunt, at Christmas. The kind you have to roll down three times to even think about wearing some seblance of low-rise anything. The kind that causes last-minute cancellations of shopping trips as soon as you remember you're wearing them and realize not only that they make you look about 5 pounds heavier throughout your entire mid and rear sections, but also that they will look ridiculous sticking out of the back of or leaving incredibly indiscrete panty lines on anything you try on. Why we girls don't get rid of these black marks on our underwear collections is a mystery I have never been able to solve. It seems that as soon as I let a few pairs go, they reincarnate in the form of my next birthday present.

I even have a seperate drawer for these substandard members of an otherwise lacy, silky, beautiful society.

However, much like my grocery shopping schedule, or my class-going schedule (well, any schedule, really, who am I kidding), my laundry schedule is somewhat nonexistent. This is where I would link to Emily's blog to exemplify what I do instead of my own laundry, but since, sadly, her blog is gone, I will just say that I get it done. Yes, that's right, I'm too lazy/spoiled/bratty/any-other-adjective-you'd-like-to-use to do my own laundry, so I send it to the Double T Laundromat on 19th and W (or thereabouts). They'll do it all for you, for less than a dollar per pound. You get it back that same day, all washed, folded and/or hung up, and you don't have to do a single thing except pay for it. So goes it in a consumer-based society. But I digress.

The point is, I haven't "done" my laundry in so long that it has resulted in the beforementioned situation, with me waking up, going innocently to my underwear drawers and finding that my only choice is the very last pair of Bad Undewear. The worst of the worst, if you will.

Now I don't have much of a problem with re-wearing stuff, as long as it doesn't smell too much or, more importantly, make someone say "Hey, wasn't she wearing that just the other day?". Jeans are pretty much a non-issue. I mean, you can wear jeans over and over without a wash and no one could ever know the difference. I think they're way better unwashed anyway, so there. However, this policy of re-wearing, however pratical it might be, does not apply to underwear. I just can't do it. So, when I have gone through the entire drawer of "Too-bad-no-one-can-see-these-because they're-so-hot-and-so-am-I" Underwear, moved on to the drawer with the Normal Underwear, worn all of those, and then gone through every pair of Bad Underwear, it's pretty disquieting.

I have about 50-something pairs of underwear, in total.

Make your own conclusions about how long it's been since I've "done" laundry. I'll give you a minute.

Pretty sad, huh.

I'll probably be at Double T later on this afternoon, if anyone wants to stop by and say hello. But you'd better be timely about it, because I'm only gonna be in there long enough to drop off my two tons of laundry and then later to pick it all up and stack it neatly in my car. And only if you promise not to ask to see any of the Bad Underwear....or remember that I'm wearing a pair.